


The Winter Wolf

by RenneMichaels



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), Winter - Fandom
Genre: Age of Ultron - Rejected, Civil War - Rejected, Infinity War - Rejected, M/M, Post-Thor: The Dark World, Trigger Warning in End Notes, WinterFrost - Freeform, rare pair hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-05-12 23:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 84,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14738001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenneMichaels/pseuds/RenneMichaels
Summary: If there is one thing this damn mission did not need, it was a leather wearing bastard with horns getting between him and his target. Not that Loki gives a good god damn what Hydra Assassins want.  This was supposed to be my 2018 CapReverseBb entry, but it got away from me.Chapter 26 - All things must come to an end - Tony drops way more than a dime, Steve does not squeal, but it is close. The long overdue conclusion to the Winter Wolf. Stick a fork in it folks, it be done.***************************** COMPLETED! **************************





	1. Chapter 1 - Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my Beta's Emu Sam and Withinmelove.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While masquerading as Odin is not without its amusing moments, Loki is not having a fun day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my Beta's Emu Sam and Withinmelove.

**Chapter – Rescue**

Fuming, Loki, in his Odin disguise, wasted no time making his way to the small door behind the throne. Waving away various functionaries, he left orders with the Einherjar that he was not to be disturbed, firmly closing and locking the door behind him. While abruptly canceling court was not something he could ever recall Odin doing, surely it had to have happened at some time.  
  
Hadn’t it?  
  
Would it have been asking too much for those wretched Midgardians to keep themselves safe? Wrathfully divesting himself of various imperial paraphernalia, Loki waved an impatient hand, opening a portal. A moment, a wisp of green smoke, and an almost incalculable amount of energy, allowed him not only to realm walk, but to also do a small time skip. Loki emerged in his own skin, amid the chaos he had viewed on a large smoking vessel. Where, despite his haste to make up his travel time, he’d obviously not got it quite right, since that idiot captain looked even more damaged, and was now pinned down, and being pummeled by the person he supposedly knew. Honestly, it looked more like a school room brawl than a real fight.  
  
Except of course for the black clad man appeared to be trying to kill that idiot captain.  
  
“Bucky, You know me!” Rogers cried, holding up a hand as if to ask for parley as the black clad figure struck him at every word.  
  
“No. I. Don't!”  
  
Trying to move around the debris, the unsteady footing, and wondering how he had offended the Norns, Loki glanced down at where Captain Rogers argued with a man seemingly bent on murdering him. The oaf wasn’t even properly fighting back. Didn’t he know that purely defensive moves against a determined opponent almost never worked? Cursing fate for not allowing more precision in time-slipping, Loki vaulted over a rail of some sort, landing on the level directly above the two men, and then irritably cast about for a debris free spot for his next jump. As usual when the Norns had you within their sights, nowhere really close presented itself.  
  
“Bucky, you've known me your whole life.” Rogers cried, struggling to his feet and trying, unsuccessfully in his injured state, to dodge the numerous blows raining down upon him. Barely dodging another blow from a wicked looking metal arm, he gasped, “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes, I’ve know you all my life.”  
  
“Shut up!” the man named Barnes screamed, redoubling his efforts and managing to knock Rogers off his feet once again, using his armored fist, he got in two quick mercilessly solid head punches. “You're my mission!”  
  
"Then finish it. 'Cause I'm with you 'til the end of the line."  
  
Cursing Rogers for being a fool, Loki blasted the man named Barnes away before the next blow could land, and then threw himself aside to dodge a wickedly large knife thrown at him in retaliation. After having to backtrack several yards, he was able to jump down to a spot that was both clear enough to land, and also, protected from any projectiles. Of course, while his landing area was clear of twisted beams, it was on the edge of a gaping hole. One framed by sharp edges of ripped metal, affording him a lovely view of the water far below. Clambering over several twisted struts, Loki was confident that if he didn’t waste a spec of seiðr, he would have enough to transport them both to safety, so long as he kept his landing area was within eyesight. However, because the Norns hated him, as he readied to leave his protected alcove to get within grabbing range of Rogers, the entire ship shuddered, tipping suddenly on it’s side. Pin wheeling desperately, he stumbled, and almost recovered, before everything started breaking apart around him.

  
Narrowly escaping being impaled on a torn strut, he fell towards the filthy river far below, as the whole vessel tore itself apart above him.  
  
Marvelous.  
  
OoooO

  
Inwardly cursing both the cacophony bouncing around in his skull, and his feet slipping on the muddy slope, Soldat dragged his target onto the river bank, not stopping until the man’s feet were the only thing still in the water. At which point in time, figuring he deserved just a bit of a break himself, Soldat fell to his knees, not even caring how badly it jarred his dislocated shoulder. His mission would have been technically complete if he’d let the target drown. However, his actual instruction had been for a bullet in the brain. And frankly, a point blank range shooting of the source of the recent beating he’d received would at the least be cathartic.  
  
And, if shooting the American puppet of the bourgeoisie had been physically possible, rather than wasting time thinking about it, Soldat would have already done it.    
  
But, he couldn’t. Even the thought of pressing a muzzle to side of that water-darkened blond head intensified the internal demands that he not shoot, but instead learn more about his target. This in turn triggered order conflict pain because he didn’t immediately take the shot. His internal and external orders warred to the point where his blood pressure and heart rate were surpassing pre-cryo panic levels. In fact, it was only his other, longer-standing imperative forbidding self-terminal harm that kept him from considering using that bullet on his own brain.  
  
If the excruciating pain behind his eyes wasn’t almost blinding him, and his heart didn’t feel like it might pound out of his chest at any moment, he might have been able to spare a few thoughts as to why now. After all, curiosity about his target was not something that had ever happened before. The internal head-screeching pain from disobeying a direct order? That he has had felt that many times. But unless he wanted to try completing his mission with black spots dancing in front of his eyes, he was going to have to try and find a way to satisfy both sets of orders. Or at least shut one of them up.    
  
Trying to shoot, and simultaneously evade capture, while not being able to see worth a damn was not within optimal mission parameters.    
  
Therefore, before pain liquefied his brain, he needed to roll the target on its side. Hopefully that would let enough water drain from its airways to permit resuscitation. A step, obviously not necessary to just take a shot, but one that had to be done if he wanted to get any answers out of his target. Besides, future compliance with internal orders would allow his blood pressure to go down enough that he could focus without red halos around everything. After all, it didn’t matter if he took the head shot now, or an hour from now. But it would be less embarrassing if he didn’t miss at point blank range due to the distraction of already-damaged brain matter leaking out his ears.     
  
Grimacing, he reflected that resuscitation of pasty-faced drowning victims was inherently gross, however not as bad as it would be if the guy threw up while he was doing mouth to mouth. And, Soldat really hoped that he wouldn't have to do that, because frankly, this mission was already cluster fucked. And after something like that? Being hosed off because his handler found fault, instead of being allowed to clean up properly, was definitely not a desired conclusion to this mission.    
  
While he watched, the stream of water stopped flowing out of the target’s mouth and nose, and before he could be rolled back over, the man gasped sharply and began coughing to the point where he was curling in on himself in pain.  
  
Not that Soldat cared about that. But, praise the motherland for small mercies, he would not need to commence resuscitation. Therefore the chances of being vomited by his target were greatly reduced.  
  
At least they were if he didn’t stand too close. Almost drowning was after all, a messy business, as he could attest both personally, and from various intel missions.  
  
Now he just needed to find somewhere more secluded for interrogation, because with a dislocated arm, and a mission target built like a bus, he really wasn’t up to carrying this guy very far. Eyes narrowing, Soldat surveyed his immediate surroundings.  Unfortunately, nothing close by met his needs. Plus, this close to the accident’s debris field, it was only a matter of time until the authorities show up.  
  
Turning, he surveyed the nasty looking chemical clouds and churned up mud that made the water look even less inviting than its normally polluted state. Still, Soldat had swum in worse. And in the end, even cold, dirty, polluted water had its advantages. He could float the guy a couple of hundred meters downstream and then drag him into a stand of trees. That would certainly be a lot easier than trying to carry him anywhere. And leave a lot less of a trail, which makes it a very viable option. Particularly with all the vehicle sirens growing closer.  
  
In fact, the only problem with that plan would be the nearest floating rainbow of oil being disturbed by a de-horned asshole surfacing up through it. And the guy did not look the least bit happy, what with his long dark, debris tangled hair plastered all over his face. In fact, with the way water was pulling at his now filthy cloak, he greatly resembled a wet, angry alley cat. If alley cats wielded long knives instead of claws.  
  
Great, Soldat thought readying his left arm to act as a shield while reaching for his last pistol, nestled in his back holster. Normally, on a target like this, when he is trying not to attract attention, he’d use a knife himself. However, there is something about the way this guy moved when they were up in the air, and the fact that the way he is holding his knives that made Soldat think a weapon with more distance might be his better bet.  
  
So he emptied his clip. He hadn’t intended to, because you would think a simple head shot would have worked right? Not only did a clear shot to the left eye of his target not work, neither did the next. How fucked up was that?  
  
Slotting a new clip into the apparently useless gun, he shoved it back into place and managed to liberate one of his favorite knives from its holder as бешеный бездомный кот* surged up the bank. Granted, he could have thrown the knife before the pissed off kitty made it anywhere close to him, but with the way bullets seemed to disappear before they hit the bastard, he wasn’t taking any chances of losing his best knife. Despite wariness at how the guy moved, he’d have to see how well a bum’s rush would work.  
  
Refusing to allow himself to be distracted by the odd phrase that had just popped into his head, Soldat blocked an impossibly fast strike with his metal arm, riposting with a downward slash that should have resulted in someone's intestines spilling out at his feet.  
  
What happened instead was a hand, with a strength that shouldn’t have been possible, slapped away his knife in mid strike, before reversing course and seizing on to his metal forearm. Soldat experienced a brief moment of vertigo as he was swung away from his target, and engulfed within a cloud of heat-sucking green fire. Airborne for split second, he was released with a hard shove, which he ignored, beyond an angry hiss when he struck the ground several yards away shivering, pain now emanating from both his shoulders.  
  
Thank you very much for that, asshole.  
  
Soldat managed to roll onto his feet with at least a semblance of the ease he normally possessed. Since he’d had decades of practice suppressing his reaction to cold and pain, he was not only able to reach behind his back with his metal arm and palm one of his push knives, he did it with an approved expression of impending mayhem. His murder stare did war momentarily with confusion when he noticed that his movements were crushing a swath of flowers, that hadn’t been there a moment before. He looked around wildly, searching for, but not finding his target. Or even the river. How the fuck did one lose a river?  
  
“While Captain Rogers was loath to harm you, please don’t assume that my removing you from his presence rather than just killing you means that I will continue to be as restrained. Seiðr doesn’t grow on trees, you know, and I have already wasted far more of it than I am happy with in protecting Midgard’s so-called hero.”  
  
Soldat's attention snapped back to мокрый кот** who was belly aching about wasting something, while looking around thoughtfully as if he had not just ruined Soldat’s perfect mission record lasting decades.  
  
“Well except for Yggdrasil.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully with a dagger hilt. Soldat looked him over, wondering what had happened to the other one, or where it had come from in the first place. “And, I suppose most trees can be used to call upon the Great Earth Tree, with the proper rituals. But that’s wandering rather far from the point, you must agree.”  
  
Who are you in life?  
  
Indifference to his surroundings, or body? Yes. Rage against his target, and handlers? Overt in the first instance, suppressed in the second? Always. However, sheer irritation was a more distantly remembered emotion, dating so far back to his early days of training that Soldat did not really have the tools to deal with in a mission optimal manner. So, with the pain pulsing in his head, both shoulders and somewhere else he couldn’t identify, he didn’t.  
  
“Eshkin’s cat,” Soldat spat, “could you speak English!? Or Russian? Farsi? Anything as long as it only contains real words!”  
  
“I am speaking English, unlike my idiot brother, I actually learned the language. All Speak is terrible with nuances.” was the huffy reply, that for reasons unknown, only heightened Soldat’s annoyance. And made his fingers involuntarily twitch against his knife.  
  
"It is hardly my fault if Midgardians, have no knowledge of power, and how it can be channeled or replenished within the Nine Realms. It is fortunate that I do know how, when you consider how much Seiðr I had to expend for even the small time slip required to keep you from killing that costumed clown.”  
  
Yeah. Thanks, asshole.  Soldat readied the knife hidden in his palm as he drifted several feet closer. “That clown is my mission; I was supposed to have already put a bullet through his brain. Now, I have to find him again.” Soldat allowed his expression to go feral, complete with bared teeth. “And you are going to tell me where to look.” And if he had anything to do with it, and he did, it was going to be quickly. After all, his handlers were not going to be happy about the delay, and they could be inventively unpleasant when even successful missions did not go flawlessly. He hadn’t had a mission go belly up in decades, but he was unlikely to forget the last time one had, both from mission memory, and having been forced to review the film they made of his correction several times.  
  
“Then why didn’t you?”  
  
Soldat blinked.  That… Was a good question, why hadn’t he?

The target had done something to him, flipped some previously unused switch. Something. Was it a long buried memory? Whatever it was that caused the jolts of uneasiness thoughts to slithered through the pain of his injuries, it needed to stop. Thoughts of tasks undone, imperatives abandoned, a mission involving the target that involved protection, all those urges needed to stop.  
  
“Well? What were you waiting for?” The dark haired man regarded him through narrowed eyes. “You certainly had plenty of opportunity to end him before I climbed out of the river. And yet you didn’t. Why?”  
  
After all he’d been through today, it was now stupid question time? That was a solid sixteen.  
  
Soldat was nothing without his mission, and being a nothing, he of course did not own anything, not his clothes, not his body, not even his name. After all, he was a tool, one that had been honed and crafted over the years. And while he was allowed to own nothing, there was on one item he did possess, something he had kept carefully hidden within his mind for years: it was his Hate List. Granted, it was a tiny thing, but small as it was, it had taken him years to figure out how to bury it deep within himself to keep it hidden from his handlers.  
  
The mental exercise of considering the various items on it, and whether it was time to rearrange their placement, was something that he used to relieve the numbing tedium of waiting for the perfect shot while standing perfectly still for hours, in the sweltering heat, while wearing a black tactical vest, and other gear weighing over thirty kilos. Additionally, it kept anxiety from overwhelming him while he was being transport back to the chair. Running along in the background of his thoughts, the ‘List’ was Soldat’s one refuge from boredom and panic alike.  
  
So why hadn’t he taken the shot? Maybe because the damned faulty mission briefing (number twenty-six) hadn’t told him that the target knew him. Something that had only ever happened once before. Of course, that time his target had been a high ranking, filthy pig of a former handler, who’d apparently crossed someone much more important. Not that he had taken any outward satisfaction in blowing the man’s brains out through the front of his skull. If the Asset had been allowed the option, which he certainly hadn’t. Ever. He would have made sure the bastard had taken much longer to die.  
  
Still, even then, he had been warned that the target knew who he was. But this time, not only was he not warned, worse, the target apparently knew him from before he became Soldat. How was that even possible? Anyone from that long ago should have been tottering around, gray haired, using a pair of sticks, not garishly dressed, and pounding him with an over-sized discus. And worse, they’d had access to a command phrase! Anyone but his assigned handler having a command phrase was currently a solid fifteen. As for improbably appearing, horned assholes who blasted him with green fire that didn’t burn but somehow relocated him? He was definitely going to have to arrange a spot in his top fifty for that. Perhaps even higher, since the bastard had kept him from gathering intel after he’d gone to the trouble of fishing his target out of the river for questioning. Swimming with a metal arm, tac vest, and a dislocated shoulder wasn’t easy, so he was plenty pissed that his effort had been wasted.  
  
What else could go wrong on this mission? Oh yeah, Влажный Кот** was monologuing.  
  
“You have apparently great value to Captain Rogers,” the man said with a frown. “And, from what I observed, are quite formidable in your own right. But not enough, to replace him, in the upcoming struggle, being an unknown --"  
  
And because he was having just that shitty a mission, there was more going wrong than an asshole who liked to listen to himself. Just as Soldat was sure his day could not get any worse, his retrieval team showed up.  
  
Their bullets hadn’t worked any better against that green haze stuff than his had, but between the man cursing as he created more haze and those idiots screaming ‘Hail Hydra’ as he gutted them, it did at least keep everyone’s attention off of Soldat. Shielding his eyes, he glanced up at the angle of the sun, trying to decide if he could figure out what direction he needed to go to find his target. If that was even possible given he was most likely going to have to go toward the helicopters he could hear off to his left.  
  
"Clever boy, you must listen to me.” Soldat stiffened, turning warily. A member of the retrieval team had separated himself from the battle.

This is bad. Very bad.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *бешеный бездомный кот - Crazy Stray Cat  
> **мокрый кот - Wet Cat  
>  **Contact - renne michaels (at ) g mail ( dot) com**
> 
>  **Comments. Yeah, no matter how short, comments are lovely. :D (Kudos and bookmarks are nice too... just sayin')**  
>  Avengers, Iron Man, and Thor, belong to Marvel/Disney, & are not my intellectual property. No financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.  
> .  
>  **[The Trouble with Tricksters](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5143163/chapters/11837846)** COMPLETE w sequel **[The Trouble with Tricksters Two](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8856499)** \- Loki is kept in Stark Tower, but he is a NOT silent, dignified, lone figure, mostly avoiding the Avengers he is forced to share living quarters with. Instead he is an in your face brat. Who walks a fine line between annoying the shit out of all of them but doing it in a way that isn’t blatant enough for anyone to stomp on him without an avenging Thor coming after them.  
> .  
>  **[The Littlest Trickster](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5056117/chapters/11627242) ** COMPLETE - Tony Stark finds out that neither he nor Loki are any match for a child determined to return to Earth. A series of One Shots as the newest heir of Asgard experiences Life on Midgard. Queens Grace Verse AU, Comes after Palaces of Sand and Gold, but can be read alone. Co-written with Ykmust.  
> .  
>  **[Queens Grace](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1038355/chapters/2071435)** COMPLETE WITH SEQUEL - After the New York attack, Odin has taken Loki’s magic, made him mortal and imprisoned him. But Asgard is not a safe place for the Trickster under these conditions. Recent events make Odin decide to take away one more thing from his second son, his memory going back for the last four years, making Asgard unsafe for Loki’s reduced station. From stories Thor had told, Frigga decides that Tony Stark’s tower would make an excellent secure location for amnesiac Loki to be under house arrest.  
> .  
>  **[Anthony of Asgard](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2193336/chapters/4803567) ** \- COMPLETE - After several years of being housed in Stark Tower as a state prisoner of Asgard, Loki is recalled to Realm Eternal. Devastated Tony is now minus a lab partner, wingman and a snark buddy for movie night. Pepper has moved to the west coast and married, SHIELD is doing some crazy shit and with the exception of occasionally seeing Bruce, Tony doesn’t have much interaction with his former team mates. He wonders how it is possible to feel so lonely in a city so full of people. However he's and engineer and a genius... he can fix this. All he has to do is convince Queen Frigga and Odin All Father to go along with his plan.  
> .  
>  **[How Desperate Are You?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/778956/chapters/1466437)** COMPLETE WITH SEQUEL – Loki has had a bad year and after leaving Midgard with Thor and challenging Odin isn’t making it any better, but no matter how smart you are… Sometimes stubborn happens. It may not seem to be in your best interest, but how desperate are you for a resolution? Any resolution. Loki is returned to Asgard and nothing good happens, but Loki isn’t the only one with issues, Odin has plenty of his own, especially in the realm of A+ Parenting. Loki is desperate to escape from Asgard, Odin and his past.  
> .  
>  **[Desperate for Change](http://archiveofourown.org/works/943697/chapters/1841248)** COMPLETE - Returning to Midgard after an absence of almost two years, Loki finds that as desperate for change as he has been, some changes will take time to get used to, especially when they concern his relationship with Tony and Pepper.  
> .  
>  **[Earth is good thanks, can I talk to Loki](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10873608)** COMPLETE - Steve Rogers did not spend seventy years in ice for stuff like this to be happening. And since desperate times call for desperate measures... He calls upon the one person he can think of who will help him. It's risky, but Steve is determined.  
> .  
>  **[Stark InterGalactic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12465492/chapters/28369024)** COMPLETE - After years of Loki being a memory washed prisoner in Stark Tower, Tony misses him when he is gone. So, Tony formed a civil union with the Trickster. Their relationship has moved past friendship, but misunderstandings & a long distance relationship caused serious problems. Resulting in Loki, giving Tony an ultimatum to find a way to resolve their misunderstandings before they began to hate each other.  
> 


	2. Chapter 2 - Clever Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When words are not just words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one, but this is where the chapter broke. Sorry. :D
> 
> Many thanks to my Beta's Emu Sam and Withinmelove.

**Chapter 2 - Clever Boy**

 

“Clever boy, are you ready to listen?"  
  
"Yes."   
  
“Longing. Rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak. Furnace. Nine. Benign. Homecoming. One. Freight car.”   
  
"Ready to comply.”   
  
"Very good. The mission is being reset. Are you ready to accept your new mission?"   
  
"Ready to accept."   
  
"Excellent. Your new mission is to--” There was a bright splash of crimson, as the leather clad man, holding a now bloody knife, shimmered into view behind his handler.   
  
“Quit trying to harm Steve Rogers, and to quit allowing those words to compel you to obedience, that is your new mission.”   
  
“Ready to comply.”   
  
“Do you understand? You will no longer harm Steve Rogers, the man known as Captain America, and you will no longer obey anyone speaking those words.” He paused thoughtfully for a moment, before continuing, “Additionally, you will no longer have anything to do with this Hydra.”   
  
“Ready to comply.”   
  
“Excellent.” There was a momentary smile, which gave the impression of the flash of a razor’s edge. “Well, then, I think we are finished here.”   
  
His former handler dropped to the ground. The man bent, wiped his knife clean on the corpse's clothing, and then almost stumbled backwards as he straightened up. Swaying slightly, both his brows and tone rising in surprise he said, “I do believe I might need a moment.”   
  
Frowning, Soldat watched the man, showing none of the grace exhibited moments earlier when fighting, stagger past several saplings, to lean his forehead against the only large tree in vicinity.   
  
“Or maybe several,” he sighed, as his eyes fluttered shut, raising both arms above his head, splaying long elegant fingers on the rough bark.   
  
Dismissing the tree hugger, Soldat looked up, searching, but not finding what he was hearing. Rotor blades. Not necessarily coming for them, as it sounded like several sets of them, all in different quadrants of the sky. Still, it would not do to have one pass over this area. His new mission would require quite a lot of thought and planning, and since it would be best if he wasn’t immediately associated with another crime scene, or worse, incarcerated, it was time to do a bit of site cleanup.   
  
The bodies were easy. Crushing the electronics, which could be too easily traced, Soldat quickly stripped them of any clothing items he could use to cover his far-too-noticeable ops gear, as well as a car key fob that might, if he could locate it, score him a getaway car. Making sure to use his metal hand only on anything that might retain a fingerprint, he gathered up the empty guns and all the spent cartridges he could see. Those were all tossed into a clump of nearby bushes, which he shook a few times to insure that they slid under the leaves trapped within their base from previous seasons.   
  
The retrieval team had not been carrying many knives, but he was down a few, so he tucked what they’d had into his empty sheaths, fixing them in place as best he could. He also retrieved, and cleaned off, a few that, from the design and placement in the dead bodies, he knew were not Hydra issue. His fingers itched to keep them too, but he decided that might cause a few more complications than he was ready to deal with at this time. Making sure to telegraph his intentions, and holding the blades balanced across his metal forearm, in a non-threatening grip with his right hand, Soldat took them over his ally (new handler?) who had slid down to the ground and was now resting with his back against the tree he’s been hugging a few minutes earlier.     
  
Hooded eyes watched him approach, but there was also a nod of appreciation as he offered up the knives.   
  
“Thank you, Barnes.”   
  
“That’s not my name.”   
  
"Oh? I thought it was?”   
  
“No.”

Just at the limit of his enhanced vision Soldat more sensed than saw movement, almost like a heat haze, flowing from the tree, wrapping itself around the man seated at its base.  
  
“I think you'll find it is your name. That captain of yours has the most annoying reputation for honesty, virtue, and other laudable, yet tiresome attributes.”  
  
The costumed clown was certainly not his captain. No one he associated with, including some of the more out there Hydra asshats, would make the tactical error of wearing a big damn target on their chest, bordered with brighter colors to draw attention to it. So the likelihood of that person knowing his name? No chance.  
  
Taking in his implacable expression, the other man sighed, “I see. Then, may I inquire what is your name?”  
  
“Soldat.”  
  
The hooded eyes watching him narrowed as a frown creased the brow for the merest moment before he was asked, “Soldier? More a designation than a name wouldn’t you agree?”  
  
There is no huffing or rolling of his own eyes; implacable expression after all. Besides, those traits had been beaten out of him years ago. But neither does he agree. Mission compliance doesn’t require agreement with random statements. Particularly when they are stupid ones. . Soldat just has to complete his missions. Successfully of course.  
  
“Do you have any other names?”  
  
Mission protocols indicate that providing additional information might prove helpful in getting near term site cleanup assistance. And despite his dislike of having to talk about anything not immediately mission related, the request by a potential ally (or more? Handler? Controller?) is not unreasonable, even if he would prefer to get shot instead. Whatever. Soldat will ‘share’.  
  
“Zimniy Soldat, designation, The Asset.” While the man mulled that over, he decided to ask, “And your name?” Because honestly, not knowing anything about this handler ( Ally? Director?) is putting him on edge. More so than even the abrupt mission change with limited intel. (Number twenty-six is certainly cropping up a lot today.)  
  
“Loki.”  
  
Pffft. Seriously? Whatever.   
  
“Do you have any other names?”  
  
He was shocked to receive a wink, that something long forgot inside of him classified as ‘cheeky’.  
  
“Well, right now, just as you are known by Winter Soldier rather than James Buchanan, I am known as Odin AllFather.”  
  
Loki, Odin, AllFather? And the guy had the nerve to take exception to his name? A bit of push back might be in order, purely in the interest of getting more information. Arms crossed more to provide support for the injured on than an attempt to appear unconcerned he asked, “No designation?”  
  
Gleeful amusement was not supposed to send a shiver down one's spine. But them most people didn’t have eyes that actually glowed under raised brows as they graced you with an impossibly wide smile that he was pretty sure showed off every tooth in the guy’s mouth.  
  
“Several actually, however the one I am currently using is: King of Asgard.”  
  
Great, the guy was fucking crazy. Still, crazy or not… “Fine. Would your Majesty care to assist me in removing these bodies before someone passing overhead spots them? In this kingdom it is generally considered a bad thing to let people easily find the people you have just murdered.” He motioned toward his right arm. “Dragging them would leave too much of a trail.”  
  
“Ah. You were injured. Very well, where did you have in mind to place them?”  
  
Soldat was strong. But even wobbling a bit as he stood, he wondered how much stronger than him this Loki guy might be. While he looped a belt borrowed from one of the corpses around one guy’s feet to make him easier to lift, Loki, with no trouble whatsoever hosted another one up on his shoulder. And then nodding for Soldat to lift the guy’s bound feet, grabbed the dead man’s jacket and together they carried the body to a promising stand of thick brush. From the way he stood,  surrounded by knee high grasses after they had dumped the rest, it was plain that the guy had covert field craft skills.   
  
“Now, it is time for you to go find your Captain Rogers. I am sure he will be thrilled to see you.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“No?”  
  
“No.”


	3. Chapter 3 - Arrive in Asgard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Number sixty-three is committed, because someone thinks they can play Soldat for a patsy. They think wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May I just say here and now that Bucky is a shit, and despite his ranting at others, he refuses to do more than mumble at me. Not that I am bothered by this mind you. (Who am I kidding, of course I am. My man, how can I do you justice if you don't speak up more!)
> 
> Beta's [EmuSam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EmuSam/pseuds/EmuSam) and [withinmelove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withinmelove/pseuds/withinmelove) All after beta changes that created mistakes are my bad.

**Chapter - Arrive in Asgard**

_Your Captain Rogers will be thrilled to see you? No chance. Besides..._

“He is not ‘my’ Captain Rogers,” Soldat replied, as a deeply hidden, rebellious part of him wondered why an effeminate, tree hugging asshole was practically trying to set him up on a date with a costumed tool of the ruling class. To which Soldat had no answer, except perhaps that Hydra asshats did not hold a monopoly on crazy. Still, tree-hugger was waiting for an answer. “Also, association with me has a strong potential to be harmful; more intel and planning are needed to avoid violating mission parameters.”

Raising his chin in a more openly defiant manner than he had in many a decade, Soldat glowered at the so-called Loki All Father.

_And, with a name like that, he objected to Soldat?_

Visibly suppressing an eye roll, Loki took a deep breath before asking,  “If I might inquire, those men that tried to retrieve you? The Hydras? Might there be more of them looking for you?”

“Yes.”

“And if that attempt should also fail, would there be others?”

Soldat nodded stiffly. There wasn't even a need to ponder that question. Soldat was one of their favorite tools. They would never willingly let him go. Not even through death. In fact, despite being a highly trained, deep cover operative, his chances of avoiding retrieval long them enough to finish his new mission were vanishingly small. This was more depressing than he even wanted to consider.

The alleged King of Asgard, (wherever that was) made a thoughtful hum, before asking, “Whatever shall we do now Zimniy Soldat, designation, The Asset. Your captain would no doubt protect you. If only from idealistic foolishness. Still your part in the recent attack might be known. And there were no doubt other missions, that you might be asked to answer for?”

While technically a statement, the inflection was that of a question.

“Lots.”

“Therefore, having temporarily thwarted this Hydra in their attempt to recover you, we are left with a pressing question. What will it take to keep **_you_ ** safe?”

“What’s it to you?”

“My presence on that ship before it fell was to insure the safety of a potential ally in an upcoming fight to save your realm.” While Soldat knew his expression hadn’t changed, something caused the man to realize just how much bullshit he thought that statement was. “Fantastic, I know. But sadly, the danger approaching this realm is very real. However, should you come to harm: I would not want lose a potential ally by having your captain to think I had any hand in it. Or, did not do all I could to safeguard his friend.”

“Not my captain. Not my friend.”

“So you say, but listening to Captain Rogers, it is clear that he feels differently on the topic.” Eyes taking on a sly gleam he continued, in an almost casual tone, “You know, should you be captured, or injured that would cause Captain Roger great harm.”

‘ _Well, that was a dick move,’_ said an exasperated voice in the back of Soldat’s mind, before it fled back to the dark to escape the incoming panic rolling over him like a rogue wave.

**_Mission failure?!_ **

As his knees tried to buckle, Soldat wished he could have traded places with the smirking bastard. At least that way he would have been close enough to use the tree trunk for support while his stomach roiled, electricity jolted down his spine, and the taste of burnt rubber flooded his mouth. A helicopter flying slow and low over the thankfully empty clearing interrupted whatever else the dark haired asshole might have wanted to say, giving Soldat a moment to settle himself, if not completely, at least enough to see clearly again. Even if he did have to swallow down as his gut continued to try and turn itself inside out.

Green eyes, now narrowed in thoughtful way. When the helicopter had moved far enough away that speech was once again possible, he said, “I do apologize, I was not trying to cause you distress, only to point out a problem that I can assist you with.” He waved an elegant hand indicating their surroundings. “With the amount of people currently looking for you, _you_ will be hard pressed to make a clean escape. I can get you out of this area without attracting attention, and give you a secure refuge until you decide what your next step should be.”

_Yeah, right._

OoooO

Completely without any betraying movement, Soldat woke in a silent panic. It was a hard-learned skill that had taken him years to perfect. However, covertly waking allowed him… Allowed him… Just a bit of a reprieve from whatever his handlers next intend to do, a tiny slice of time to gather himself together before he was thrust into whatever hell they had planned for him this time. As his brain came online he immediately sensed that something was different. He was not awakening from a natural sleep. After all these years he knew how differently waking from real sleep felt compared to being revived from either cryo or code-induced unconsciousness.

Granted, there had been a time or two when he’d been brought back to consciousness while lying on something soft, each time for reasons he resolutely does not ever want to recall. However, he didn’t ever recall waking up in a comfortable bed, with warm scented breezes and a complete lack of activity anywhere near him. There was always a team present when he was revived.

He did remember being yanked behind that stupid tree when an all-terrain vehicle appeared out of nowhere. It had skidded to a halt, when someone spotted the bundle of useful items he’d stripped off the dead men. He hadn’t been the only one cursing under his breath, that he hadn’t had time to hide the bundle. But even as he’d picked his target, that--Loki, had grabbed his arm and hand hissing at him that they needed to leave. The bastard was not only strong enough to stop him from throwing the knife, the grip he had on the upper part of his arm was far too tight to break free from as he was jerked… Sideways?

Yeah, sideways. One moment there were men in front of him fanning out in a search pattern, the next he was in the middle of a damn forest clearing, having something shouted in his ear before a fucking explosion of light tossed him up into the air so high that he felt like he was being sucked through a tube. Only to be spat out in somewhere that was not a forest, with a different gravity(?), in a dome that looked like the inside of a clock. The fingers of his left hand scored grooves in the stone doorway he’d stumbled towards while his insides tried to turn themselves inside out.

A deep unfamiliar voice boomed from somewhere behind him. “You get used to it. Or so I have been informed. It has never bothered me.”  
  
At his feet was a pulsing bridge made of colored lights, and above him were streaming clouds interspersed with more stars than should ever be visible. The disorienting sight of which arrested the drunken stagger he’d used to get that far, dropped him to his knees and kick-started the whole vomiting thing. As soon as he figured out what the fuck happened, it was definitely going on his hate list. And he didn’t care what had to be moved, it was getting a top twenty spot.

You would think that having spent several decades as a brainwashed killing machine, who slept in a freezer between missions, not much would surprise you. You would be so wrong that a high-dollar Bukmeker couldn’t calculate the odds of it. And while he didn’t yelp, or indeed do anything but shoot a murderous glare through the hair hanging in his face, Soldat was as surprised as fuck to find himself being addressed by another costumed clown. Of all the things that he might be pardoned for expecting to happen, after apparently being shot to an alien planet, having… (Errol Flynn, the distance voice suggested) peering down at him in concern was not one of them. Nor was having fancy pants laugh when he whipped out a knife to hold him at bay. His heart was getting ready to burst out of his chest, his stomach was still trying to get rid of a meal it no longer had, and he was being laughed at? And offered a handkerchief to wipe his mouth with? The bastard obviously had a death wish.

_Although…._

If he could have moved his goddamn right arm, he’d have just wiped his mouth on his jacket sleeve. Unfortunately, his working arm was bare metal, and thus not of much use for impromptu cleanups. Besides… Ewww. Not for the first time he wished his tactical outfit included a scarf of some sort. Useful things scarfs. They could hide your identity, be used to improvise gags, restraints, bandages, tourniquets, keep one warm on stake outs, and as would have been useful today, used for emergency hygiene. But did anyone ever listen to his request to be issued one? **_No._ ** And no matter how many times he’d taken one from a target who no longer needed it, he never got to keep it for the next mission.  

“Excuse me, Winter, was it? We really do need to get moving. So if you wouldn't mind.”

Soldat, jerked his attention to the matter at hand, snagging the offered square of cloth on the tip of his knife, flipping it up, and then into a backwards grip, without letting go, he caught the handkerchief before it could fall, and in one continuous motion scrubbed it across his mouth and chin, tucking it, soiled but still potentially useful, in the waistband of his pants. As his knife returned to a slashing grip, he considered, but then reluctantly discarded the idea of backing up. There were no rails on this fucking bridge and if it came to a fight, he was not giving up the center of it. The idea of falling off the damn thing was already producing an almost constant shiver of dread running up and down his spine. Understandable, but completely unacceptable for such a highly trained secret assassin.

Willing himself back into mission mode, Soldat attempted to quiet any inner qualms about his physical position by shuffling until his back was towards the opening in the clockwork dome, totally ignoring the goatee’d bastard who was trying to urge him towards a herd of approaching… horses? Why in the hell did space aliens have horses? Shouldn’t they be using personal rocket ships or something? As far as he was concerned the lack of spaceship cars and the preponderance of skin tight leather did not bode well. What kind of aliens used horses, and wore leather? He eyed his self appointed guide a moment, before additionally deciding that no self respecting alien race would allow its members to use that much pomade on their hair. Or, for that matter, their mustache.

His own hair raised on the back of his neck alerting him to the approach of two previously situationally ignored aliens. Exiting the clockwork dome was an enormously tall black man decked out in gold armor with an even more massive helmet than self named King of Asgard had worn. Leaning on an equally gold, two-handed sword of excessive length he took up a position just outside the chamber’s opening. The other was a stern, bearded, white haired old man wearing a gold trimmed robe and a gold eyepatch, who gave his guide a meaningful look before passing the two of them, and nimbly mounting an enormous horse wearing a gold harness, or tack, or whatever the fuck they called all those straps things. It wasn’t until they began moving away, that Soldat tore his eyes away from the gold and even noticed that the horse had double the legs it should have had.

Rumbling like thunder rolling down a river valley, a deep voice proclaimed, “I believe Fandral is waiting for you to mount up, the All Father has tasked him with assisting you while you are in Asgard.”

Willing himself not to reflexively stab the huge space alien with the big-assed sword, at least not until he had no other option, Soldat glanced up to see glowing gold eyes solemnly regarding him. And why not at least a ray gun or something? He wasn’t sure what in Lenin’s name was up with this place, but he wasn’t drinking so much as a damn glass of water until he made sure it wouldn’t cause parts of him to turn gold too.

Peering behind the giant did not result in any sightings of that dark haired asshole from the helicarrier. Meaning he’d either passed him by while Soldat’s gut had been turning inside out, or he’d sent him here by himself. Which was a completely dick move considering that he only had one fully functioning arm, less than a dozen knifes, a single paltry wire garrote, and a pistol of such a small caliber, it almost wasn’t worth the time to load it. Still, he had worked with less he supposed. And to be fair, Loki not only kept him from being retrieved by his handlers, but had also made no attempt to kill him when he had the chance to do so. And he was pretty sure he wasn’t being collected for sale to another group. Since the asshole’s main focus seemed to be trying to persuade him to speak with his mission target, the so-called Captain America, who claimed he was Soldat’s long lost friend.  

This most likely meant that it was safe enough to go with that Fandral, or at least no less safe than anything else he normally did while out of the tank. Pushing down the last bits of nausea as he stood, Soldat allowed himself to be chivied towards transport that was sadly not a flying space car.

During their initial journey, Fandral exchanged words with pretty much everyone they passed en route to what looked like a small hotel suite, presided over by an elderly female built like a draft pony. Despite her smelling of herbs and apple blossoms, and looking like someone’s sweet old mother, the first thing she did, after assuring him with an amused smile that nothing on Asgard was going to turn him gold, was reset his shoulder. She had with a grip that could’ve put a dent in trunk bumper. But as the stars behind his eyes faded, and she moved on to cleaning his wounds, he had to admit it was kinda amusing to listen to her acerbically berating his guide for dumping one of her assistants. Normally, he might have panicked (internally only), what with the room being some sort of first aid station, if it were not for their sniping back and forth. These were definitely not the kind of conversations he was used overhearing at a Hydra base med tech area. Additionally, the place was warm, spare without being stark, and the benches weren’t cold metal; in fact it was actually pretty nice, or rather it was until she insisted that he crawl up on a table under some goddamned illuminated lid of some sort. He fucking wasn’t going there anymore.

But no matter how out of it he might get tearing things down from the ceiling, people approaching him with weapons always commanded his immediate and complete attention. The lid thing was unwieldy, but he did manage to take out one of the guards with it. And slow down the second one by tripping the heavy base over on him.

Fortunately Fancy Pants was able to call off the second set of guards before he ran out of things to throw at them and had to resort to hand to hand with his knives. And then Blossom lady’s boss, a tall, spare woman named Eir, directed the newly wounded to another room, and shooed everyone else back to their corners. As if his destroying her clinic had not just occurred, she smiled gently at him, “You are not the first battle fatigued warrior to have turned berserker on us, and I doubt if you will be the last,” she said before raising a hand that glowed, predictably for this place, gold.  

OoooO

Which was the last thing he remembered happening until the chimes woke him up from the best sleep he’d had in a couple of decades. Except, it couldn’t have been natural since there is no way he should have slept through someone stripping off his tact gear so they could bathe him. Let alone re-dress him in loose trousers and a shirt.

Even if he couldn’t ever remember wearing anything this soft.

“How did I get here?” he asked at last, turning towards his guide, who he’d been watching through slitted lids since he’d covertly woken several minutes ago.

“Oh. Good, you're awake.” Fandral set aside a slim book he’d been flicking through.

“How. Did. I. Get here.”

Eyes widening at his growl, , Fandral said, “Oh. Ah. Well, Eir said you were going to injure yourself if you kept on that way, so she… ah... put you to sleep. If I might, perhaps offer a word of advice?” he asked, but then continued without waiting for an answer. “Don’t cross her. You won't win. Not even the All Father wins against Eir. Well at least not long term. Anyhow, she did say you could leave when you woke up. So let's get you settled shall we?”

OoooO

Everything about ‘Asgard’ is weird. Nice, but weird. He’s given a servants room in the All Father’s wing. Something that Fandral informs him is a high honor, usually reserved for only the most trusted and valued servants. Apparently, it used to belong to one of the late queen’s attendants, which would probably explain some of the color and decorating choices. But while soft lavender and pale blue aren’t colors he would have thought he’d like, there is no denying that the damn room is a hundred times nicer than any place he has even been, let alone slept. And that includes a few hits that had taken place in high dollar hotels.

Soldat does not roll his eyes. But, over the next several days Fandral never shuts up, not as he takes him on a tour of the palace, not as the wardrobe mistress waves them away after issuing him new clothing, not as a palace bootmaker takes his measurements, and not even as the exchequer is giving him examples of how much purchasing power is on his new stipend chit and how often it will be reloaded. At least in this instance, Soldat isn’t the only one fed up with his non-stop chatter. Fandral actually did get tossed out to wait in the hall until the exchequer was sure that he had drilled the basics into Soldat and had him properly sign for his wage advance.

This of course begged the question just how the hell he had gotten a job. And doing what, exactly? A question that neither the exchequer nor Fancy Pants could, or would answer.

Not that he has any time to think about this, since the minute they’re strolling down the hallway, Fandral is going off again about the good old days, when the only thing he and a few other losers had to do all day was hang out with a questing Crown Prince Thor Odinson, and his constant shadow, the deceased (?) Prince Loki. Soldat never could stand Op Assists who chatter non-stop, particularly since he was never allowed to give them even a warning flesh wound.

“And then Sif lept up on to the beast’s back, distracting it, while Thor, Hogan and I--”

“Who did you piss off?” he finally asked as they returned from a tour of the training grounds.

“What?”

“Who did you piss off? It’s a simple question хвастун.”

Fandral stiffened, his voice losing its customary forced cheerfulness. “Braggart? Perhaps, you are not aware that All Speak translates the meaning of _all_ your words, even when you mix languages.”

“Still a valid question, pal. You dress rich, you used to pal around with the prince, you know everyone, and even the ones that can’t stand you don’t say squat when you piss them off.” Fandral shot him a ‘you can’t possibly be referring to me’ look.

“Oh yeah bud, you piss a lot of people off, and yet they don’t mention it. That means, you’re someone. Or at least, you were before being ordered to spend days playing tour guide to a _lowly_ _Midgardian_.” Not that any of the mugs bitching about having to _‘pander’_ to Soldat knew about his enhanced hearing, which had turned out to be no help at all, since none of the gossips had known why the ‘All Father’ was pampering his pet _Midgardian_.

“So, my question stands. Who. Did. _YOU_. Piss off.”

Stiffening like someone had shoved a stick up his ass Fandral glared at him. That was a big mistake, since Fancy Pants didn’t seem to have it in him to do a real psycho, scary, murder glare. Soldat decided to show him how it was done, and as an added bonus, let his lip curl a bit, maybe allowing a hint of his canine to be show. And, okay, he wasn’t going to be smug about Fandral’s glare being replaced by an aggrieved scowl as the Asgardian turned his face away.

Oh. Who the fuck was kidding who. The smug was rolling off him in practically visible waves, so much so that the bastard never did answer his question, contenting himself to sulking the rest of the way to the armory. Despite Asgard having a stupid ‘No Guns as Personal Weapons’ policy, the head weapon guy was nice enough to load him up with a fuckton load of knives, sheaths, and two small bodkin daggers that were fancied up so they could used as hair sticks. He also gave him a serviceable wooden box containing sharpening stones, honing rods, oils and a couple of leather strops. So regardless of the no gun bullshit, and them trying (unsuccessfully) to foist a sword on him, it was a pretty good visit. And honestly, not a bad way to end his day, when he and Fandral Dashing, (name wise, Asgardians should not be throwing stones.) made it back to his room.

OoooO

What was it with those goddamn chimes? At least lately he was able to remember stumbling out of his clothes on his own power before face planting into the huge bed. He took a moment to decide that regardless of what he’d thought yesterday morning, and the three before that, last night had been the best sleep he’d had in a couple of decades. Suppressing his instinct to whip a few knives at the person sitting across the room from him, he instead stretched from his fingers to his toes. An action that was infinitely more enjoyable than falling out of the tank in electro-convulsions. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes to glance sideways at the waiting Fandral. Voice gravely from sleep, he growled, “The bitch slipped me another mickey.”

Magic glows, medicinal toddies, tempting snacks, scented candles, goddamn pillow spray, and who knows what was next. Eir was creative.  

Fandral's brows wrinkled a moment as his magic all speech translated ‘mickey’ to whatever the alien word for ‘knock-out drug’ was.

“Ah. Yes. Well, Lady Eir does like to make sure her orders to rest are followed. Which is why the All Father didn’t have me wake you. But still, now that you are up, we really should hurry, he would prefer to see you before court starts.”

OoooO

Fandral was not happy when the door guards demanded that he wait in the hall with them. Inside, Asgard’s All Father, turned out to be the one-eyed, white haired old man Soldat had briefly seen when he first arrived. Seated behind an imposing desk, in a chair that is just a shade away from being a throne, he put down the pile of papers he was reading and fixed a long, penetrating look upon Soldat.

“Well you certain look better fed and rested. Eir, might be difficult at times, but she is the best. And I did hear that you scandalized the head armorer with your rather crudely phrased, but entirely correct opinion of swords.”

The king smirked.

 _Exactly what rank does All Father equal out to wondered that long buried voice inside him_.

“Just between the two of us, I quite agree. Swords are clumsy, heavy things, they are forever banging into something, or someone, and frankly the small amount of added reach, is not worth the delayed reversal time in a fight. And I see that our good, _‘Fandral the Dashing’,_ managed to get you outfitted in something serviceable, if not anything that would flatter your form enough to detract from his. Not surprising really.”

Which, Soldat reflected during the several long moments they held eye contact, was indeed a possibility. Hell, you couldn’t help but notice, that Fandral guy was vain, he checked himself out in every shiny surface they passed. Of which there were far too many in Soldat’s professional opinion. Hell, close work assassination would be near impossible in this place, what with all the polished metal capable of showing you who was behind you at any given moment. Finally, the king continued, almost musingly.

“What are we going to do with you, James Buchanan Barnes of Midgard, who prefers to be called Winter Soldier? Your Captain America is quite distraught over your disappearance you know.” Soldat tried to reply, but was waved to silence by an impatient hand, accompanied by a muttered, ‘Yes, yes, not your Captain’, as the king smartly tapped a decoration on the side of his desk.

The face was different, the voice was different, but cadence on that last phrase? The smile that showed way too many teeth that accompanied it? And the fact that he knows that Loki punk isn’t as dead as everyone here seems to believe.  

“Fandral here,” the king said as his guide entered the office, did a weird chest thump, and accepted the packet being held out to him, “will show you how to operate the reader. There are several briefings loaded upon it. We will speak again after dinner.” The king waved his hand, and Fandral immediately hustled him out of office.”   

He and Fandral were two corridors away when he turned his attention back to the more important consideration of what the fuck had he gotten himself into. Several times during their travels, Soldat had seen pictures of the Royal family, and had considered the implications that he’d been rescued by someone who is supposed to be dead. The same someone who dragged him through a damn space portal and then seemingly ceased to exist the moment they’d landed on the bridge. Not that he’d said anything, not on the bridge, not later to Fandral.

You gathered intel before you interrogated people after all. And so far, the intel he’d gathered declared that the deceased Prince Loki, aka the God of Mischief, was a master mage, (magician being a dirty word up here) who specialized in illusions and storytelling. While definitely not the better liked of the two brothers, Prince Loki was considered to be the smarter one, if only in a backhanded manner, problem solver-fixer kind of way. And was, from what Soldat could find out, apparently being groomed to be Asgard’s official shyster. He narrowed his eyes consideringly at the chattering Fandral.

He had wondered more than once, at the very careful way Fandral had phrased every nugget of intel he’d let drop on the supposedly dead prince.  Well he isn't wondering anymore, Fandral has clearly committed a number sixty three.   


	4. Chapter 4 - Midgardian In Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asgardians are very odd people, who do not respect knives like they should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am taking suggestions for Bucky's Top 100 on his Hate List, so feel free to let me know what you would think is on there. :D
> 
> Also. I am not of the school of thought that thinks Thanos would have given up a damn infinity stone just to gain a year or two in traveling to Midgard. I am more, unless he can find another high powered mage, Thanos is screwed and is going to have to take the scenic route... which is way more than of few years long. 
> 
> Beta's [EmuSam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EmuSam/pseuds/EmuSam) and [withinmelove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withinmelove/pseuds/withinmelove) All after beta changes that created mistakes are my bad.

**Chapter - Midgardian In Training**

While Soldat was still wet from his involuntary swim in the Potomac, the horned asshole had said his current designation was ‘All Father,’ but at that time, he’d had no way of knowing that was an actual title, and that there supposedly was only one All Father, who did not look like a dark haired jerk with cheekbones that could cut diamonds. However, during their travels, it had not escaped Soldat’s attention that not only had Fandral been careful what _he_ said about the ‘dead’ prince, he’d also been fairly quick in shutting down any conversations with people who weren’t equally circumspect. Not quick enough that some interesting info wasn’t let loose, but not near as much as Soldat could have gotten if Fandral hadn’t been there hushing everyone up the moment they’d started to mention something the least bit uncomplimentary.

Way to make mission planning harder, Fancy Pants.

It was hard enough getting intel without his normal complement of electronic devices. Or brandishing razor sharp knives. Not that he could have been sure any of his normally issued surveillance equipment would have worked here. And sadly, he suspected that brandishing knives might have revoked his guest status. Not to mention that in a place where even the cleaning ladies carried them strapped to a thigh, they might not have quite the same immediate effect.

Of course he had noticed the multitude of hidden knives on the domestic staff; he was a highly trained assassin after all.

Since he was, after all, gathering information, not releasing it to every mug in the joint, as soon as they were in a secluded corridor, Soldat looked over at Fandral and interrupted his current monologue. “Exactly how long has Loki been the All Father?” You could almost see the hair raising on the back of the guy’s neck before he whirled, planting himself in front of Soldat, sputtering like a tea kettle at full boil.

**_“Shhhhhh, shhhhhhh, shhhhh!”_ **

Darting a quick look in all directions to make sure they were alone, Fandral then took his life in his hands by jabbing Soldat hard in the chest, hissing, “Loki is dead.”

Soldat huffed, and before the offending finger could be withdrawn, slid a knife into this right palm and  latched his left hand around Fandral’s wrist and squeezed hard enough to dent his armor.

Which fazed the guy not at all, something Soldat was definitely not used to when was exerting this much force and holding a knife.

Merely tsking at the damage his wrist armor had received, Fandral jerked his arm away, and to Soldat’s shock, ignoring the knife, Fandral grabbed _his_ wrist, and started towing him down the still empty hallway. At speed. Bitching and hissing the entire way like an ill-tempered Buba. The only thing Fandral was missing to make the comparison complete, was a flowered babushka wrapped around his head and shoulders. He could have gutted the guy – would have, under other circumstances, gutted the guy. But honestly, the last week had been one shock after another… And as long as no one was hurting him, he was just going to go with it, and see what happened.

Admittedly, not much of a plan, but while Asgardians were fucking crazy, at least they weren’t trying to stuff him in a freezer tank.

_Or waving around cattle prods._

That too.   

Soldat, with the frazzled Asgardian towing him along like an errant toddler, ended up, not too surprisingly, in the room assigned to him. Leaning with his back against Soldat’s door, and almost clutching at his stylish hair several times, Fandral glared at him narrow eyed and said peevishly, “Look. Loki is dead. So you just need to ignore the fact that he isn’t. Understand?”

Listening intently, he tried to understand exactly what the hell was going on as Fandral paced back and forth, occasionally waving his hands in agitation as he continued more than a little disjointedly. “Thor is my shield brother...but honestly, realm-wide preparation planning… Not really his strong suit. Not that anyone besides Týr, Heimdall and a few of the most senior councilors know everything. Well, and of course, Lords Njörd, Frey, and Hreidmar. Although how they are going to get Surtr and Sinmarat to agree to anything I don’t know, but I understand Loki has tasked Helblindi with that, them being related and all.”

“For a dead guy he seems pretty busy.”

Fandral shot him a poisoned look. “Well, yes. But, with Queen Frigga having gone on her final journey, and the All Father, deep in his Odin sleep, Loki is the best we have. So--”

“I thought there was no Loki, him being dead and all.”

“Exactly. Good man. You just remember that and we might all survive to laugh about this charade.” He stopped, a grave expression taking over his features that didn’t look the least bit at home there, what with his ridiculous facial hair.  “It’s that Thanos fellow, of course. Is your realm not preparing?” Then he added with an air of someone determined to be fair, “Of course they might not be broadcasting the details just yet, since it will likely be at least one of your people’s generations before he arrives, if not longer. Unless, I suppose, he finds himself another master mage. Difficult that. Still, even here, it is being kept fairly quiet. Only the rulers and their top people know about it. And there is lots of deflection and distraction so as to not to unduly alarm our people with the scope of the preparations and all that.”

Shaking himself, in a manner quite reminiscent of a wet dog, Fandral recalled his instructions and pulled Soldat over to a mural on the wall. Tapping rapidly, he explained how to turn the mural into a view screen and access the various ‘sagas’ that had been preloaded for Soldat to review. Then he gave him a quick rundown of how the slate worked and, promising to return in time to escort him to dinner, exited the room as if pursued by a pack of wild animals.

_That was a very odd info dump. And what is with that guy ignoring knifes?_

True. And who the hell knows. Everything in this place was nuts. Or had a funny name. Like the term saga. That was Space Alien speak for movies, short news clips, and documentaries, all of them concerning his mission: Steve Rogers, aka Captain America. As he watched, the intel input caused disconcerting echoes within him, flashes of something that might have happened long ago, overlaid with nerve-searing correction and the taste of electricity and burnt rubber dancing along his teeth, while a dry disinterested voice inside him droned on. He knew and hated that voice. The voice made him recall these events over and over, and then punished him for it, until it was no wonder that he flinched and shied away from any thoughts not mission related. Mission memory was all that was permitted, and it didn’t take long until he fled to it when they hooked him up to the machines, resolutely refusing input from the before place. In the distance, someone started screaming.

OoooO

Cramped and abused muscles protested his attempt to uncurl from the cold stone floor, sharp stone chips shifting beneath his leather clad knees as he basically fell backwards against the wall, groaning as his legs twisted awkwardly before straightening.

“Soldat? Can you hear me now?” The low musical voice belonging to the ass hat with horns was far too close for comfort.  

A throat hoarse from shouting rasped out, “That’s not my name.”

“Indeed, it isn’t. Very well,” said the soft baritone, “James Barnes, can you hear me now?”

“He’s dead, they killed him. Over and over and over, and over, they killed him.” From somewhere, there was sound very much like a suppressed sob, “They killed James, they killed Sergeant Barnes.” He raised wet eyes to the dark haired man crouched several feet away, “And, they…They killed Steve’s Bucky.”

“And yet I see him right before me.”

The thing that wasn’t Soldat, or James, or Bucky bared his teeth in a snarl. “You’re not listening. They killed him a long time ago. The only thing left is the assassin. Who will be hunted down like an animal, either for future use, or experimentation, or to hurt the mission.”

Pulling up the neck of his under tunic, he swiped the dampness from his eyes, and then, ignoring the other man, stared sightless up at the ceiling. They sat in silence for several long minutes as various scenarios, each more appalling than the next, played out in his mind's eye. Tight-lipped, he flicked a despairing glance at the man watching him, and then turned a contemplative gaze towards his metal hand. Watching the light shift across his flexing fingers he continued in a sad, defeated tone, “Recaptured, killed, dissected, or hidden away someplace like this, it doesn’t matter, Rogers' seen me, he knows, he’s gonna look for me. So, no matter what happens, he’s gonna be hurt.”

Meaning of course, he’d already botched his mission to hell and back, which had to be some sort of a mission failure record since he hadn’t even laid eyes on the guy…Steve. He hadn’t even laid eyes on _Steve_ since he’d received the damn mission. A mission he hadn’t a clue of how to proceed despite, or perhaps even because of the random, and irritatingly frustrating, fragmented data dumps that occurred every time he even thought the mission's name.

“Very well, shall we continue with calling you Winter then? I have thought from the start it suited you.”

He shrugged. He knew he wasn’t James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, or at least not anymore. And short of picking a name at random, he supposed Winter would do. It was a name he was used to, if not one he’d actually ever answered to, so it the name he had the least amount of memories attached to.

After a moment Loki continued in a thoughtful manner, perhaps not even realizing that Soldat--

_Winter._

Yeah, okay, Winter then. It did make sense that if he wasn’t that Bucky guy any more, he certainly wasn’t Soldat now either. Therefore, Loki didn’t realize that he was only receiving about half of _Winter’s_ attention.

_Happy?_

“I am sure something can be worked out. Although I must admit your planet is currently milling around like a kicked ant hill. The day we left, it was discovered that the organization hunting you had apparently infiltrated all levels of SHIELD.” He considered this for a long moment before adding, “Personally, I never thought Director Fury’s understanding was more than moderate. Still, he could have been persuaded to facilitate your return.”

Disconcerting scenes, no doubt a messy mix of recent intel input, combined with fragments of previously repressed memories surfaced. Not unlike particularly noxious swamp gas bubbles. Chief among them was Steve, _goddamn Captain America,_ saving people from being shot by throwing himself in front of them.

_‘You stupid jerk! You could have been killed!’_

_‘Well what did you expect me to do Buck? Could you quit hitting me, it’ll heal in no time, but right at the moment, I am bleeding.’_

And, according to the memory, only occasionally catching the fucking bullet with his shield rather than his own damn body. And since the one where he leapt in front of past Bucky is hazy around the edges, he has to think that was an actual memory. Or possibly a recurring nightmare? Or maybe just a fabrication from his own fucked up brain, mixed with what Steve might do if (when) someone with a perfectly legitimate grudge comes gunning for Hydra’s top assassin?

No. No matter what kind of deal might have been cut, (a real long shot no matter what the horned wonder says) there would still be too many people with a lethal grudge against him. The plates on his arm are shifting so much in agitation that they almost, almost drowned out the horne--, **Loki’s** current monologue.  

“--’sult of which is that this Hydra is currently in as much disarray as SHIELD. Possibly giving them other things to think about. As opposed to recovering your services should you decide to reunite with your Captain?”

The last statement was floated out as lightly as a feather, with only the merest hint of encouragement. That, in and of itself, was totally at odds with all the ‘bluff and hearty’ and _‘this is how it’s going to be’_ pronouncements he’d heard from everyone else here for the last several days. Including even the damn cleaning ladies. From what little he’d gleaned, this Loki had the reputation of being a smooth operator. However, subtle encouragement wasn’t near as persuasive as the cyro tank or the threat of being re-educated, so pretty boy could just blow it out his ass. Taking a calming breath, since whatever they had up here it was not the tank or a re-education team, he turned an implacable glare on ‘Loki’ and simply said, “No.”

“No?” The word sighed out on a resigned breath. After several long minutes of looking at him like he was a puzzle to be solved Loki asked, “While you are perfectly welcome to keep your own council, I am known to be a tolerably skilled problem solver. So if you wouldn’t mind, may I enquire why?”

Not for a second breaking eye contact he asked harshly, “What do you care?”

There had been very few people in the last couple of decades who did not become uncomfortable when Hydra’s Asset glared at them for more than a moment or two. In fact, by now his handlers most likely would have commanded him to look at the wall while they stood threateningly behind him.Usually with a high voltage correction prod at the ready.

Pretty Boy, who was apparently made of sterner stuff, regarded him steadily, merely tilting his head slightly, as if considering nothing more important than what he wanted for lunch or something.

“ _Well?_ ”

“As I told you, I have a vested interest in your--” He paused a moment, the corner of one lip curling slightly at the low growl. “Rather, Captain Roger’s well-being let us say. And having translocated you so abruptly, I could not in good conscience simply abandon you; I have the oddest feelings the Norns, as well as Captain Rogers, would be vexed if I did so.

While he had only the haziest idea that he had at some point in the past might have known what the word Norn referred to, it apparently wasn’t a term he’d heard, even in passing, for many decades.

“Besides, there is little more I need to do here to prepare Asgard,” Loki continued, “so, I will shortly be relocating, to Midgard as a matter of fact. Or, I suppose I should start referring to it as Earth. Regardless, I can’t really leave you here by yourself, and I am loath to return you to Earth alone, only to risk you being recaptured and re-aimed toward Captain Rogers. So if there is a way to solve whatever reservations you have with being reunited with the Captain, who I assure you earnestly desires this, I will facilitate them. If not, well, it isn’t like assisting you in making other arrangements will present me with any real difficulty.”

Since it wasn’t like things could get any worse, he decided to lay it all out. Who knows, maybe smart ass was as good at solving problems as he thought he was.

“Hydra aren’t the only people looking for me, there are others, lots of them, whole governments. And not all of them will care about collateral damage. They’d shoot through Rogers to get to me.” After a moment the newly renamed Winter added, “And from what I can figure, I doubt if I could keep Rogers from taking a bullet for me. Or worse, since he might survive a bullet, trying to shield me from a being run over by a tank or something.”

OoooO

Apparently, the reason Loki had been being groomed, before his unfortunate not-death, as Asgard’s fixer was that the minute you presented him with a problem – like, say, what to do with a memory-damaged assassin who had committed multiple murders in dozens of countries – you could almost see the wheels turning in the guy’s head. That being said, casual gossip did not get it wrong when they mentioned that while he had been a successful problem solver, Asgard as a whole hadn’t always been happy with his solutions.

By dawn the next day Winter was in total agreement with popular opinion. A harassed looking Fandral accompanied him on another round of measurements; this time, instead of being seen by whoever took care of the general palace population, they were hitting Asgard’s most renowned seamstress, boot maker, armorer, and their chief projectile weaponsmith. It seemed Asgard did have guns; they were just normally restricted to fortifications, spacecraft, and the crown’s pleasure. And for the record? Rayguns were cool as fuck. Winter was getting two of them. With custom grips.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, some damn twelve year old Buck Rogers wannabe was squealing with joy. Accompanied by memory fragments being pushed forward at absolutely inconvenient moments. Garish comic books being poured over a crowd of scruffy kids. How his similarly sounding middle name morphed into a tribute to his comic hero. Confusing, yet adorable admittedly, but a scrambled telling of origins of the Bucky and Rogers team was not something he needed distracting him, particularly not while being instructed in the use of a never before seen weapon. After lunch he had a preliminary meeting with a real elf artificer who tsked over his arm, did a quick tune-up of it, and told Winter that he would think about what upgrades might be possible and notify him in a few days.

The less said about his preliminary session with Ugbjorn, Asgard’s top training master, the better. Although if he was going to say something, the words sadistic and asshole would get a lot of use. And since he’d experienced decades of Russians and Hydra handlers, this would be his expert opinion. However, the guy did show him several moves he didn’t know, and as a bonus let him try them out on Fandral. While Fancy Pants tried to keep up with the mouth, after a few throw downs, except for grunts of exertion, he became blessedly silent. Winter may not have had Asgardian grade strength, but he more than made up for it by fighting dirty. Still six hours of being yelled at while knocked to hell and back did get old.

Apparently Fandral had let his hand to hand and melee skills get a bit rusty, so Winter wasn’t the only one getting yelled at. The tiny bit of enjoyment the Fandral dressdowns provided, and the lack of cattle prods, were a welcome change from the way his previous decades of training sessions had gone.

Another welcome change was the lack of cold water and high-volume hoses afterwards. The training facility bath house had deep tubs of hot, muscle relaxing water, which made a cold water rinse refreshing, not something to be endured in suppressed rage. The pots of soft soap, smelling somewhat like spearmint, bay rum, or pine, and the thick towels were also an improvement on what Hydra had provided.

After he’d returned to his room, and changed out of the simple bath house-provided trousers and tunic, Fandral dropped him off at the guard’s mess hall for dinner. This wasn’t bad, but leaned very heavily on roast meats, grilled vegetables and salads, not all from entirely identifiable sources. But it was all hot, fresh, and actually pretty tasty. While perhaps not as fancy, the food in the guard’s mess was pretty close to that served in the main dining hall. Not that Winter was picky about what he ate, generally, he was just glad to get enough.

He had hoped that afterwards he’d be able to spend perhaps as many as ten minutes thinking about how he could accomplish his ridiculously open mission of causing no harm to Rogers while being a wanted criminal. Whose mere absence, now that Rogers knew he was alive, was going to cause the man distress.

“Excellent, excellent. You’re done eating. I’ve just picked up your next set of briefings, so come along now.”

“I hate you.”

“Better you than someone more important,” replied Fandral, snagging a piece of fruit as they headed towards the door. “You at least got to eat after you changed. I didn’t.”

OoooO

Seated beside Fandral at a small work table on one side of the king’s office, Winter didn’t sigh or roll his eyes at the long list of files on the slate he’d been given. He wanted to mind. Pretty much every other briefing was Steve Rogers - The Early Years, or a thinly veiled commercial for how beloved Captain America is. Annoying, yes. But they at least were break from _‘World Civics - Important Events That Brainwashed Assassins Might Have Missed While On Ice’_.  Which was somewhat helpful. He wasn’t totally ignorant of current events, but the only training he’d received had been in how to bypass modern systems, or other mission-related items. For current events he’d had to rely on the fact that his handlers generally regarded him as a piece of furniture while waiting until it was ‘go time’. So they didn’t pay any attention to him being in the same room while they were watching the news or reading a paper. However, he wasn’t sure why Fandral had to suffer through this with him. It  seemed like the man was being subject to the most obscure form of punishment ever, but then every so often there was a Basic Fealty or the Asgard Code of Conduct summary, and the guy took it upon himself to explain the sections that Winter had absolutely no chance of understanding without some background context.

He was about halfway through his ninth briefing when the doors were flung open by two guards and, he supposed, Loki, striding past them wearing his old, one eyed man disguise. “Ah, Fandral, unless you have any questions on tomorrow’s schedule you can leave now.”  

From the relieved look on Fandral face, Winter would have been willing to bet that even if he’d had a list of questions a three meters long, Fandral would have skipped them to make his escape. Not that he blamed the guy; it was late, it’d been a long day, and hell, the poor sap hadn’t even had dinner yet.

The second the door closed behind Fandral, a wave of green washed over the doors, and the old, one eyed guy shimmered a moment, his features fading as the sharp eyed Loki came into view. Loki straightened his slightly stooped posture with a low groan, “I swear by Yggdrasil this charade gets harder every day.”

Not that he’d admit it out loud, but Winter’s inner assassin could sympathize. He may have had a lot of shitty missions, but at least he didn’t have to do them hunched over while wearing an eye patch.

_Or a fancy embellished skirt made of leather._

Well yes, let’s thank Lenin for that small mercy.    

Still trying to shake the cramps out of a body that has been in geezer mode all day, Loki asked, “And how far did you get on the briefings?”

“I’m on nine. Speaking of which, they’re a little heavy on the Steve Roger’s info aren’t they?”

Tired green eyes lit up in amusement. “Are they?”

Winter raised a disbelieving brow. And suddenly, looking much younger, Loki struggled not to let go of a smile. “Perhaps, just a trifle. But in the interest of saving time – mine actually, which I don’t have a lot of these days – you are actually getting copies of my personal notes.”

That isn’t the least bit creepy.

_Yes it is._

Okay, so it is, but from what he’d gathered from Fandral the guy was famous for knowing where everyone's buttons were... still... “You’re a fan then?”

After the tiniest flicker of confusion, understanding apparently blossomed, and Loki actually chuckled. “Ah. No. No offence intended of course, but I am not a _fan_ of _worthy_ blonds. I was once related to one you see, and having to deal with that day after day for several centuries will quite put you off them.” He then shrugged. “However, enough of about them. I am pressed for time if I am going to get the All Father’s daily report done in time to get any sleep, so let stick to the main concern, shall we?”

If he had given a fuck, Winter might have wondered how one gave a report to a sleeping person, but he didn’t really. There were far too many strange things going on in his life just then to be worrying about the mechanics of that.

“I considered your problem last night. And I believe I can offer you a way to return to your planet that won’t result in you being incarcerated or hunted down.”

 _As if._ But, rather than saying anything, Winter merely folded his arms, and raised an skeptical brow.

“Indeed. However, your planet has a provision called diplomatic immunity; you should have already run across it in your briefing. While perhaps not as all-encompassing as your situation calls for, I think we can make it work. Particularly, if Asgard is the one providing the protection. I am fairly sure that in exchange for the information and assistance they need to prepare your planet for Thanos, the larger countries will make sure no one causes you any harm. Therefore, you would be able to contact Captain Rogers often enough to calm his distress at your absence, without in anyway putting him in jeopardy of consorting with a known miscreant.”  

Miscreant? Really? Winter was pretty damn sure he’d gone way past what that word encompassed. Still, immunity would be a pretty good trick, **_if_ ** Pretty Boy could pull it off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I very much apologize for the whole OC'ness of it all. James Buchanan Barnes, aka Zimniy Soldat, The Asset, The Winter Soldier, and a few other names that haven't been issued to him yet, absolutely does not want to talk to me. The brat.
> 
> Don't forget - I am taking suggestions for Bucky's Top 100 on his Hate List, so feel free to let me know what you would think is on there.


	5. Chapter 5 - Vargr Fimbulvetr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hyra @ss-hats never took Winter to all the exclusive shops, but he is not quite sure that was a bad thing when his new gear starts rolling in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter in Asgard. 
> 
> Many, many thanks to Beta's [EmuSam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EmuSam/pseuds/EmuSam) and [withinmelove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withinmelove/pseuds/withinmelove) All after beta changes that created mistakes are my bad.

**Chapter 5 - Vargr Fimbulvetr**

Winter was not sure where he had first heard the phrase ‘If you are going to pull a scam, do it fast and make it a big one’, but apparently Loki had also heard it, and more to the point, taken that advice to heart.

After three more sessions with Ugbjorn the Sadistic he’d apparently passed some sort of standards test.

“Your forms are adequate,” Ugbjorn had gruffly conceded in a manner that suggested that if there was no one else around, and things were truly desperate, you might, as a long shot, be of assistance.

_Adequate?!_

Winter was considering his opening move to see just what the Training Master’s own _forms_ looked like, when Fandral, possibly picking up on his thoughts but perhaps just overjoyed at no longer having to be his sparring partner grabbed his arm and started towing him away. “I am sure the All Father will be glad to hear it,” Fandral tossed over his shoulder to Ugbjorn, “We’ll just have someone stop by later and pick up the certificate then, shall we?” As he all but thrust Winter towards the warrior’s bath house.

OoooO

He has a helmet now. And not just any helmet, this one looks like a wolf’s head. It has ears, a thankfully shortened snout, a wraparound chin guard with teeth, and the face of it lifts up so it can be worn like a stiff scarf and an ugly hat combo. One that had teeth and ears.

**_Who the fuck puts ears on a helmet! Or for that matter teeth. But still, ears?!_ **

Winter doesn’t even lift his head; he just glares from underneath his brows at the armorer. “Is this some kind of a fucking joke?” despite his low controlled tone, the muscles jumping in his jaw would have caused his more prudent handlers to have readied their emergency take down plan.

Asgard’s head armorer’s nerves are apparently stronger than the metal he works with. The bastard has the nerve to _roll_ his damn eyes.

“I do believe it is in the traditional style for the Wolfs,” Fandral offers, playing the peacemaker.  “If not as ornate as the ones I’ve seen displayed in Memorial Hall.”

_Really?_

Of course having viewed the helmet in all its glory, the gaudy gold wolf on the front of his new chest armor, complete with a matching gold chain mail scarf thing pale in comparison. The less said about the pair of gold stars flanking the wolf’s head the better.

_They’re horrible._

**_They give people a target to aim at._ **

Winter totally agrees with both his inner fashion critic and Ops outfitter. However, both of them have to admit the shit is well made, comfortable, and for the protect levels it is rated to provide, the damn stuff is light, and surprisingly easy to move around in. Besides, he’s pretty sure they could have been worse, look at the gaudy crap the damn guards wear. And worse, look at their helmets.

_But still, gold stars? Who the hell thought those were a good idea._

OoooO

The elf artificer isn’t alone when they arrive.

“Winter. Fandral.” Eir greeted them genially, glancing up from a slate she and the artificer were studying as an assistant ushered in. She was there apparently to provide a waking sedative, pain meds and monitor him while his arm was refurbished and various new connection were attached. After a few more moments of consulting with the artificer, she handed him a small flask to drink from.  

Eir and her _flasks_ , Winter could feel his lip curl. In the war against ‘sleep aids’ he has lost every night but one since he got here. The bitch is fiendishly inventive. The contact sedative on his bedside table lamp was inspired. Of course, the night he did outwit Eir was pretty much a hollow victory, since he’d spent most of it jerking awake as innocuous memory downloads twisted into nightmares of his family turning on him, and then one of skinny kid Stevie looking horrified at what he’d become, and darting into traffic to escape him.

That time he sat bolt upright at the sound of car horns and a cut off scream. Afraid to go back to sleep, he’d spent the next day walking around in a daze. This was not a good thing to do when in a training ring with someone trying to hand you your ass. That evening, she’d appeared while he was on his way to the ‘All father’s’ office to work on his briefings, and simply handed him a small box with forty flasks, approximately twenty milliliters in size. After a long moment of locked eyes and silent communication he’d taken them. He might not be small Steve’s Bucky anymore, but he still didn’t want to hear him screaming in his dreams.   

Memories of a skinny kid Steve made his heart ache with loss, and a strange jealousy that Captain Steve Rogers, doesn’t need **_Bucky_** anymore. Or, Stevie as he used to be called many years ago. Breaking the silence that the two of them were working in, Winter had said as much later that evening as he finished up yet _another_ ‘Captain America, the Early Years’ briefing.

Loki, seated at his massive desk and frowning down at an some thick document had looked over to the small study table Winter was again sitting at, the furrow between his brows deepened. “Stevie? Ah, Well, when I met him while thwarting an invasion against your planet, he was introduced to me as Captain Steven Rogers. Well, perhaps made know to me would be more accurate.” A his face crinkled as it was overtaken by a tiny smile. “But I daresay if I meet him again, I will now be hard pressed not to call him Stevie… at least once.”

Cute, but Winter cut right to the chase, “So you fought together?”

“Ah. No. That would have been just a bit suspicious to the people who thought they had brought me to heel. Since subterfuge demanded that I play the villain, your captain and I had to achieve our joint goal while on opposite sides. But I do have information about on that meeting I can give you, if you are ready to see it.”

“Not my captain,” Winter retorted almost on autopilot, but he did skip ahead to the indicated briefing, that containing intel on an alien invasion of Earth that he had totally missed knowing about.

_Space whales? Who  the fuck goes up against space whales with a reinforced garbage pail lid?_

“Winter?”

Shaking his head, Winter, who’d been blindly staring at the wall across from him, blinked a few times before looking at earnestly upbeat Fandral.

_Does this chump never give it a break with the smiley shit?_

“They’re finished. Shall we go back to your room so you can rest up for a bit before dinner?”

Frowning, Winter flexed his metal fingers, They had generally moved smoothly enough, at least when they hadn’t needed maintenance. Now, however they had an almost oily, sliding quality to their movement. He balled them up, and noticed that he no longer heard any shifting of his arm plates when he made a fist. And that he could actually feel phantom movement in the arm as he tightened the grip. Almost like it was mimicking the feel of real bicep muscles. Also, his arm wasn’t shiny anymore, it had a thin black coating of somesort, that looked almost like it was enameled on. Twisting he looked to see what they had done with the somewhat scratched red star on his shoulder, and was amazed that it was gone, replaced by a gold wolf that matched the front of his armor, right down to the faceted blue stone in its eye. A rich gold wolf, engraved and embellished as if it were a piece of jewelry.

Lenin on a pogo stick, have these people never heard of too much of a good thing?

_It matches the other armor now._

What the hell? It does.

He had been wondered why, when his new armor had included a blacken metal sleeve for his right arm, they hadn’t designed it so the plate patterns matched his left. At the time he’d chalked it up the right one being made different because it actually had to cover real flesh. But had still wondered why they hadn’t at least made it the same color. Apparently the armorer was in cahoots with the artificer, because the plate patterns, colors, and even the shoulder design were now the same.

 _If you wear gloves, it will cover the metal hand. I bet Fandral knows where to get some._  

OoooO

Opinions on how his mission would be carried out, was not something the Asset was ever permitted to indulge in. Additionally, his mission briefings gave him only the information deemed necessary. That frankly had led to a lot of work around on his part, since they were often lacking as far as he was concerned. Not that **_they_** cared as long as he accomplished them. Still, that was apparently no longer the case. Winter was almost drowning in intel. If it wasn’t about the Great Captain Rogers, with its attending feelings of guilt, shame and rage, it was about some all-powerful planet destroying asshole. Standing behind Loki-in-disguise on his left flank with Fandral on his right, he spent hours listening to a bunch of geezers as they planned defenses in mind numbing detail. After a few hours of listening to them, the tank started to look good to him.

_What?_

Well, perhaps not the tank, but he would have rather been back in the training ring with trained with Ugbjorn shouting at him than listening to a bunch of windbags go at it all afternoon. No wonder Loki always looked like he had a headache. However, intel was intel, so he generally paid attention. If nothing else it kept him from worrying about how to convince Rogers that Bucky was, A. Not here anymore, no matter that Winter used to be him, and B. A liability to be around from all the years he’d spent as the Asset.

The voice he thinks of as old Bucky admonished him. _Hey! You could pay a bit more attention right now buddy._

The council was talking about him now. The papers being being passed down the table are not the only thing being closely examined by the councilors. Most of them look thoughtful or disinterested, but a couple of the assholes are looking at him like he is gum on their shoe. One by one he gives them a prolong murder glares until _they_ look away. At which point in time he bares his teeth in a feral smile before turning his attention to the next asshole that needs cowed.

Well it wasn’t like he hadn’t know how this was going to go down. When he discussed--

_Argued._

Well okay, when he’d _argued_ with Pretty Boy about the damn gold all over his new armor, and that ridiculous helmet, Loki had explained that the best way to get Winter diplomatic immunity was if he became a citizen of Asgard, and the best way to do that was by becoming a Wolf of Asgard. Sort of a crown bodyguard that doubled as a free roaming problem solver, except they used lethal force when diplomacy failed. He felt a smirk tugging at his lip as one of the councilors actually questioned his credential in problem solving. Not that he cared what the old fart thought, his only concern is that it was a way he could keep from being arrested or killed long enough to convince Rogers why he couldn’t just slide back into being his old pal _Bucky_.

“All Father, might we inquire which wolf were you think the Midgardian suited for?” Asked Týr, a grizzled old warrior who generally didn’t say much, but was listened to intently when he did.  

LokiOdin coolly looked down his nose at Týr. “Yes, I think he would be most suited to take his place as Fimbulvetr.” Almost everyone in the room looked shocked, and Winter could hear the positive hum going back and forth as many of them got into a hissing contest with their neighbors. LokiOdin glared them all back into silence, and then continued serenely.

“It is as if the Norns had decreed it, since it is already one of his Midgardian names. And who, gentlemen, are we to go against the will of the Norns. Particularly at a time like this?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget about to drop me your thoughts on Bucky's Hate List. I think between what I had and the suggestions of Nyx_Ro and Love_pb we have the basics covered, but now we need the odd ones that are like #74 or 82. I will try to work a few of them into the remaining chapters, or perhaps they might inspire a one shot at a later time. Ya never know. :D


	6. Chapter 6 - Like a Bad Penny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some things you just can't get rid of, and for Asgard's Council, apparently it is Loki. But they give it another shot!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to Beta's [EmuSam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EmuSam/pseuds/EmuSam) and [withinmelove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withinmelove/pseuds/withinmelove) They do their best, lord love them, then I last minute tweak. Sigh...

Like **a Bad Penny**

“Okay, this is different.”

Not different enough to warrant any real curiosity, more, an I-am-just-mentioning-this-in-passing different. It had, after all been a long day. Hell, who was he kidding. Every fucking day in Asgard was long. Not only were they filled from morning to night, but they were actually not twenty-four hours anymore. His internal clock had been adamant about the change, so he’d checked with Loki. At present, the best guess was that an Asgardian day lasted about thirty-one earth hours, but this wasn’t a constant.

Not that it would be affecting him, but still, what the hell? For reasons that involved way too much math, cosmology, astronomy and fucking magic to really understand, Asgard had cycles, like a female. Occasionally their days were slightly shorter, perhaps twenty nine hours, but in most cycles the days were much longer, but since it took centuries to change, everyone adapted. And if that wasn’t confusing enough, even the length of the cycles varied. Loki said that everything that contributed to Asgard being Asgard was in flux, except for her people. The Ás, he claimed, never changed.

So, while the days were long as hell, they weren’t necessarily hard, he wasn’t bitching about that. Because honestly, Winter couldn’t consider any day that started with waking up in a soft bed, being allowed to take a hot bath, and being served a decent breakfast, hard. But, while it seemed impossible, today had been longer than most. Just because he had passed his forms with the training master, didn’t mean he got to skip training first thing in the morning, followed by the rounds of whoever demanded to see him that day: healer, armorer, artificer, tailor, grab a quick bite to eat and then spend the rest of the very long day shadowing Fandral as they flanked Loki in his Odin disguise during council, audiences, or meeting. Hell the highlight of his afternoons are when he and Fandral get sent out on errands by the fake king.

_Who knew that attending a king could be more mind-numbingly boring than a stakeout? Five times the tedium, without even an adrenaline rush or being killed to look forward to._

Then dinner in the guards mess, before settling in at his desk to run through as many briefings as he could before Loki finished up his nightly report to real-Odin. Who was still in a coma. And the idea of giving progress reports to a guy in a coma was never going to seem normal.

How exactly that worked he had no idea. But it didn’t seem quite fair that even in a coma Asgardians had to listen to reports of all the boring crap that he’d missed. Every damn day. Odin would have been better off iced. Winter sometimes wished he was.

_Not really._

Okay, so not really, but still, having to spend the rest of the evening with Loki, exhaustively rehashing every damn thing that had been in the latest set of briefings, was beyond tedious. Intel gathered or not. And god forbid that the topic under discussion was something he’d missed by being a frequently frozen assassin. Because when that happened, the topic would be added to the next evening’s briefing.

“I would,” the prissy bastard told him, “have your input as a Midgardian. You will no doubt notice nuances that I miss.”

 _Uh huh_. All nuances aside, his sessions with Pretty Boy, keep triggering memories of an older, dark haired girl--

_Cousin. Sophie, she lived with them according to a personal bio briefing._

Fine. _Bucky’s_ cousin, _Sophie_ , snapping at him to pay attention as she grilled him on his school work. Lots of different memories of her doing this. Leading him to think that _Bucky_ had either been slacker, or worst, a real chucklehead. Regardless, all those triggered memories made it hard for Winter to concentrate on the matters of immediate concern. Particularly when they made no fucking sense from a tactical point of view.

“So you are going to set up your first meeting with the guys who handed you your ass the last time you were on earth? How is this a good idea?”

“I was not trying to evade capture.”    

“Still got the shit kicked outta you.”

Loki narrowed his eyes at that one, replying testily, “Well, yes. Sadly, sometimes suffering is required for successful misdirection.”

Uh, huh.

Winter was sorely tempted to see what would happen if he assayed an eye roll.  

**_External reaction, not advised._ **

Which makes sense, but internal eye rolls and mental humph’ing are incredibly unsatisfying. Of course the fact that Winter is even thinking about showing his ally ( _handler?_ ) how full of bullshit he thought him is satisfying enough for right now.

OoooO

As a compromise with his inner advisor, Winter merely said, “If you say so.” And if his tone was one that made his inner advisors cringe, well, that was their problem. Winter’s job was pointing out all the problem areas in Loki’s plan to reintroduce himself to Earth using the Avengers as a vanguard.

“I can see one immediate problem.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t think me being anywhere near Howard Stark’s son is going to help your cause. He sure as hell won’t be listening to you.”

“I don’t see why Stark object to you being with your friend? The man is annoying, but not totally unreasonable.”

“I killed his parents; I think that’s a good cause for someone to be unreasonable, don’t you?”

Loki paused a moment thoughtfully, and then shrugged.

“Well, since the fate of his entire planet hangs in the balance, I would think he’d overlook it. But then I killed my birth father and have my so-called-adoptive father locked from exiting his healing sleep, so I may not be the best judge of matters such as these. So, if you think it reasonable that he hold a grudge, we will just have to finesse your presence.”

Finesse? Who are you really?

_OoooO_

It turns out that Loki was Loki. Or rather Loki was Odin, and a very unhappy Fandral was Loki. Or at least that is how it was as far as Asgard was concerned the next day. And actually it was pretty impressive. In addition to the little throne room in which Winter had endured so many meetings, and the various throne-chairs scattered all over the palace where only Odin was allowed to sit his royal ass, the guy had a baseball stadium sized ‘receiving’ room containing about a four ton gold throne. Surround by miles of dressed stone, high ceilings, and accented with banners hanging from the ceiling that were every bit of thirty foot long.

Standing to the left of the steps leading up to the throne, Winter was positioned behind a gaggle of councilors. His job was to make sure that FandralLoki wasn’t killed by one of them as the farcical, Return of the Prodigal Son, was re-enacted for their consumption. It was also Vargr Fimbulvetr’s first public appearance so he was totally decked out in his Winter Wolf gear, armed to the max, and wearing that ridiculous wolf helmet.

_Surprisingly comfortable Wolf Helmet._

Well, yes, but still stupid looking.  

 

OoooO

Standing tall, and stamping his shiny gold spear, LokiOdin proclaimed that his wayward son had been making reparations for his transgressions against Asgard by working undercover at Odin’s behest -- which was all they were apparently really concerned with -- and reminded them, that no matter how misguided, his actions had stopped a war with Jotunheim, in addition to assisting Thor in dealing with the Dark Elves.  

FandralLoki did a bit of pre-planned groveling. Something Fandral was good at, according to Loki.

_“I’m not really,” Fandral had protested._

_“Torunn Drengdottir? Fǫnn Wybjorndottir? Kalda Brandrdottir’s mother Sigbjorg--” Fandral winced. “Really Loki, you did promise never to bring up Sigbjorg again.”_

_Winter had shot an inquiring look at Loki._

_“Our Fandral has the habit of unwisely spreading his favors a bit too far. To say this leads to conflicts of the potentially gelding nature is a bit of an understatement,” he explained, eyes gleaming with malicious amusement. “However, he does grovel beautifully, which is why his manhood was able to escape Sigbjorg's blade after offending her daughter.”_

_“She was a most lovely girl, but a trifle too clingy,” Fandral’d explained in a resigned manner, before adding, “Her mother, on the other hand, was an absolute harridan.”_

After several minutes of FandralLoki apologizing without really admitting anything, something both men were good at according to their planning session that morning, and LokiOdin making a shit load of pompous pronouncements (that it didn’t appear anyone was buying) about how his son was going to dedicate himself to good works, Odin dismissed the general populace, and the rest of them followed him to his council chamber. FandralLoki waited in a small side room, and Winter was directed to stand behind Odin, on his blind side this time, as LokiOdin and his councilors discussed his son’s return.

“While it is wonderful that the prince has returned, AllFather, there is still the question of if he can be an effective envoy to Midgard, given his history there.” Asgard’s Military Leader, Týr, was not one to beat around the bush. Nor was he alone in his misgivings.

“Indeed Sire,” offered a dumpling-faced advisor who Winter guessed was of middling importance. “While I don’t think any of us question the younger prince’s ability to facilitate an agreement, it is sometimes difficult to ensure that he doesn’t roll items into a treaty that are not necessarily germane to the situation at hand.”  

It didn’t take much more than that to open up a fairly lively discussion dancing around the fact that no one could ever be quite be sure what Loki was up to. This was pretty much the direction Loki, in his Odin guise, had intended to steer the conversation.

Finally Týr said, “Since the younger prince spent so much of his time with Thor, and had rather different interests, you never did assign any warriors to him. Perhaps it is time to rectify that?”

Pretty much the whole table nodded. Winter wondered if Loki was just that good, or if Asgard’s old farts were just that easily manipulated.   

“Oh? And exactly which of our warriors do you suggest would best suit being placed in the service of the younger prince?” LokiOdin asked with feigned interest. All of them, even Winter thanks to this morning’s planning session, knew that the main reason Odin hadn’t done this in the first place was that none of the Asgard warriors would have been a good match for him, and that the council would never have agreed to one of their Vanir guards being given that much influence over even a second prince. And that, even now that they could in no way consider Loki to be a callow malleable youth, those old assholes still wouldn’t want a resident Vanir, no doubt related to one of Frigga’s original bridal attendants or staff, that close to the royal family.

“Perhaps, your Wolf, AllFather?” Said the tired old man who’d been exchanging side whispers with Pudding Face. “As a Midgardian, he would not…”

Be able to wield influence for his realm, unlike a Vanir, what with Midgard being so politically fractured? Have to hide his distaste for Loki’s continued perverse study of Seidar/magic, unlike an Æsir? Was beholden to Odin and could spy and report back to him? Winter almost see them considering all of that. And as even Fandral had agreed, the fact was that Winter was a stranger to Asgard, who would not have any hidden allies to facilitate Loki’s little side schemes, would give the council one less thing to worry about. Particularly if they shipped them both immediately off to Earth.

Winter recalled Fandral’s last words to him this morning, right before they set this whole farce into action.

_“So you are going to be Loki’s new bodyguard? Better you than me my friend.” Fandral’s normal jovial tones, becoming slightly more serious._

_“I’m not your friend. And why.”_

_“Well he has always had a disturbingly high number of people that want to kill him. Trickster you know.”_

Still, Loki didn’t seem worried; in fact Winter could almost feel the smugness radiating off him as FandralLoki was called in to give him the good news.

_He’s playing them._

Yep. However Winter was beginning to think that the most important thing he had to watch for was that he didn’t turn into one of the people Loki played.

At least not anymore than he already had.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a picture from last years CapRbb, while not exactly what Nyx_Ro was asking for, it is close. https://78.media.tumblr.com/0bad275dc8b8f5a39925d827e1489665/tumblr_oruzn4CyfP1w7jlcwo2_1280.png
> 
>  
> 
> **Comments. Yeah, no matter how short, comments are lovely. :D (Kudos and bookmarks are nice too... just sayin')**  
> 


	7. Chapter 7 - Meeting the Avengers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rose by any other name.... Thor pontificates upon a name. Sadly, Loki does not turn him into a frog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's [EmuSam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EmuSam/pseuds/EmuSam) and [withinmelove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withinmelove/pseuds/withinmelove)

 

****

**Chapter 7 - MEETING THE AVENGERS  
**

When Asgardians decided to go all out, they went all out. He and Loki were surrounded by a dozen guards, who had apparently pulled out their Sunday best. And then dipped it in solid gold. Joining their little parade was some old geezer in elaborately layered robes. The chain of office draped over each of his shoulders was made up of numerous linked plates, surprisingly of engraved black metal rather than Asgard’s ever present gold. The damn plates weren’t small, nor were the softly glowing amber looking stones in the center of each one.

_Cabochons._

Yeah? Whatever. But as impressive as the chain part was, it paled in comparison to larger center plate resting on the old dude’s chest, with its correspondingly larger amber _cabochon_. He was accompanied by three other guys whose robes were made of only a few less layers, even if they were only coat length, allowing a glimpse of embellished, leather inset trousers tucked into ankle high boots. Or in other words, space alien business wear. But business wear or not, each of them still had a few gold accents tucked here and there. Including the clasp on the younger one’s bugling leather satchel.

Pretty much the whole party was sporting shades of yellow ranging from beige to deep ochres, overlaid of course with tons of actual gold metal accents in bright, brushed and hammered. Except of course for him and Horns. He was in all black--

_And gold._

Okay, Winter had not totally escaped the whole gold thing, But in his defense, he had protested its inclusion. While Loki was wearing an outfit similar to the one he’d had on when Winter had first met him, almost black green leather interspersed with multiple other shades of green, topped with old bronze armor and ridiculous helmet.

_At least the wolf helmet isn’t that gaudy._

But still stupid.

_Agreed._

At any rate, the two of them stood out in sharp contrast to the rest of their group, or would have if they hadn’t been completely surrounded. Sighing, he flipped down his face plate.

Rainbow colored worm holes sucked.

_Agreed._

OoooO

 

Fortunately, highly skilled assassins who know what to expect, don’t embarrass themselves by being the only one to stumble when thrown across the universe.  The possibility of upchuck in a possibly closed helmet was not to be thought of. So thanks to preplaning on his part he’d managed to cage a pack of anti-nausea lozenges off that old mickey slipping healer, Eir.

_You skipped breakfast this morning._

Which totally counts as preplanning. Better safe than mortified after all. Besides, he tucked a dried fruit bar away in case of need because he’s pretty certain that there is no way even the initial meeting at the old Shield Facility is going to be short, or go as smoothly as the Asgardians think it will.

Although… There was an absolute minimum of shuffling within the circle of charred concrete before everyone slid into place and was marching with military precision into the building’s large atrium. Impressive old geezer, and his boys taking point.

“Lord Ulf! Welcome to Midgard. We were surprised to get your message yesterday.”

Thanks to their helmets and wide armor, he couldn’t see past the stupidly tall guards surrounding him, but with the context and videos he’d watched, he knew the guy greeting them was Asgard’s Thunder Prince.

“Seriously surprised. It isn’t often a pot of boiling spaghetti noodles is used as an interstellar communication device.”

_That would be Howard’s kid._

“Tony!”

That would be--

_Stevie!_

Yeah, him.

_Stevie! Stevie! Stevie! **Stevie!**_

Fortunately hidden by his helmet’s mask, Winter could feel his face screwing up in pain as the shrill cries of _‘Stevie! Stevie! Stevie!’_ ricocheted back and forth in his skull.

Fuck. Calm down will ya.

“Holy shit, it’s Loki!”

And that would be trouble. Winter flipped the retaining straps off two of his knives before unholstering his machine pistol, shouldering one of the guards out of his way, and lighting up Arrow Boy’s forehead. Which isn’t to say he wouldn’t have liked to give his smaller ray gun a field test, but no sense letting the opposition know everything, at least not yet.

_Plus, the Skorpion was closer at hand._

True.

“Loki?”

Completely heedless of the valiant efforts of Winter and the other grunts to keep him safe, Loki parted them and strolled to stand beside old Geezer. “Hello Thor, Captain Rogers, Stark,” he said, greeting each calmly with a nod before addressing the maniac aiming an arrow at his head, “And, of course, Agent Barton.”

“What did you do to Bucky!” Rogers yelled, trying to tug his arms free of the two guards who must have grabbed him during the initial rush. Loki glanced around theatrically, and then peered at the more distant cluster of people watching them.

_Most likely armed. They need watched too._

Working on it!

“Now I am disappointed, Agent Romanoff couldn’t make it?”

A tall, wiry woman with brunette hair severely pulled back, said dryly, “She’s on another assignment. We’ll be sure to let her know you asked about her.”

“And you are?”

“Acting Director Hill.”

“Tell me what happened to Bucky!”

“ _Loki!_ How are you even here?! What are you up to now?!”  

_Watch the brother too, he’s got a pretty good grip on that hammer of his._

I did say I was working on it. Winter gritted his teeth in irritation, although he would be hard pressed to know just who he was most irritated with at this exact moment his inner nag or Loki.    

Old Geezer, making a noise like a lion trying to hack up a hairball glared at everyone.

“Prince Thor, if you could control your companions, all will be explained. In an orderly manner.”

Ignoring Old Geezer, Thor finally noticed Winter.

“Loki! When did the All Father claim a Wolf? And why is he with you?” The alarm in Thor’s voice was pronounced enough that even Howard’s kid shot the blond a worried look.

“Well now Thor, I suppose that is something you should ask Odin yes? He is, after all, the only one with the authority to do so, is he not? As for why he is with me? Really Thor, do you think you are the only prince in Asgard who could swear a warrior to your service? You have four, please don’t begrudge me my one.” Loki sniffed, tipping his head back so he could look down his nose at his brother.

_In the old neighborhood, anyone pulling a move like that would have been asking for it._

I can understand why. But I would still have to knee cap ‘em if they tried anything stupid.

_Well of course._

“Even if he is worth all of yours together.” Loki sneeringly concluded, adding just a bit more brotherly insult to injury.  

Which he was of course. Hidden behind his faceplate, a scimitar sharp grin flickered momentarily across Winter’s face. Despite the jibe having been being delivered sotto voce, it was still deliberately loud enough to cause Thor to stiffen wrathfully. As well he might, Winter thought. Despite what all of Asgard, and the big blond in front of him thought, James hadn’t been overly impressed by the Fandral, or what he’d learned as he was breaking in his new armor about the rest of Thor’s crew.

_Still, Loki really isn’t helping right now is he?_

Not really.

_Kinda like Stevie when he was young. He never knew when to shut up either._

Don’t start.

“Odinsons! Silence, both of you.” Old Geezer barked. “You may bicker all you like, after the All Father’s business is concluded. Now. I require to be taken to your Nations United to present both my credentials and the All Father’s writ.” He glared at positively everyone within his line of sight. “You will all of you, remember that we are here as an official delegation of Asgard and conduct yourselves accordingly.

Do. You. _Understand_?” The last bit, while technically phrased as a question, was delivered through clenched teeth as more of an implacable command.   

“Yes sir, our apologies, but we do have questions.”

“I understand that Captain Rogers, but I assure you, your private business can be handled after the official items are settled.”

“Invading New York was not exactly private business, besides--” Barton’s growl was cut short as a gimlet stare was directed his way.

“I rather doubt that is for you to decide, Agent Barton was it? Thor. To me.”

And just like that Old Geezer tore the center out of their defensive line up.

_Lord Ulf_

Winter re-racked his rifle at a hand gesture from Loki and fell back towards the rest of the guards.  

Do you ever shut up?

_No._

Ugh!

With Ulf at their head and Loki in the center, looking down his nose at everyone, the Asgardians exited with military precision. Winter did his best not to look too out of place. He killed people with great precision, he didn’t march. Rogers, flanked by a few shield flunkies went ahead of them directing them to a side entrance where a stretch Mercedes limo-van-strocity, and a bunch of more mundane, and only vaguely sinister black SUV’s awaited them.

Since armor is bulky, besides Winter, only two more guards, minus their helmets, joined them in the Mercedes. The rest were divided into two SUVs with one of Ulf’s more senior aides in each transport. He wasn’t sure if it was because speaking to non-warriors was not something they were expected to deal with, or if Old Geezer just didn’t want to be crammed into the limo. Thor sat beside Ulf, and his youngest assistant, across from him and Loki, who only fit in the limo because he had waved a languid hand, causing his stupidly large horned helmet to shrink down until it was just a band with small horns on the front. Rogers and the brunette woman piled in last, settling in by the two guards. Keeping his helmet on, and down, since it wasn’t near as unwieldy as the one the guards were stuck with, Winter was able to watch Rogers without him knowing it.

_It’s a diadem._

What is?

_The band with the small horns. Diadems are a type of crown shaped like an ornamental headband. It’s Greek._

How the fuck do you know shit like this?

_I don’t know. Some stupid poem we had to learn in school._

Do you think you could quit with the stupid trivia, which nobody gives a shit about I might add. I’d like maybe five uninterrupted minutes to evaluate the mission. Keeping his face forward so no one would be able to tell where he was looking from behind his faceplate, he was surprised to see Rogers studying him intently. And not being the least bit discrete about it either.

Just as Rogers looked like he was about to say something, the other blond did.

“Will you introduce me to your companion brother?” Thor asked. Ulf shot Loki a quick, don’t-you-start-no-shit look, before going back to whatever he and his satchel carrying assistant were discussing.

“Of course Thor, while he has had many names in the past,” Loki said, a wicked smile widening across his face, “his name is now, Fimbulvetr Vargr.” Thor rocked back as if sucker punched, Steve stiffened, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as they darted towards to Loki, and then back to Winter again, but turning more speculative.

_Steve’s not stupid you know._

Shut. Up. This is important.   

“Surely not,” He protested, as a clap of thunder unexpectedly boomed loud enough that could be heard despite the limousine’s soundproofing.

“Why?” Rogers demanded sharply. “What’s wrong with Winter Wolf?”

“Nothing, that after all is the normal designation usually given. But you are hearing it as Winter Wolf in All-Speak, Steven. In our tongue,” Thor paused “‘Film Ver bet r’ means ‘awful, great winter’, and ‘Var grr’ denotes a wolf that is a destroyer,” Ulf coughed meaningfully. Thor flicked a concerned look at Loki and appeared to change his mind about what he was going to say next. “In this usage, it means related to Fanrir,” Loki tilted his head, raising both brows in what would generally be considered a look of only mild interest. Which had to be a put on since Thor’s voice was hoarse when he continued, “In both cases, they are said to be harbingers of Ragnarök, the end of days.”

Ulf snapped, “It is an old wives tale Thor. Every day we exist brings us closer to Ragnarök.”

“Still, you cannot deny that it is an ill omen to associate a Wolf of Asgard with Fenris.”

Ulf’s glare intensified, clearly warning Thor to shut up, but if he wanted to shut this discussion down, he might have spared a bit of it for Loki who snapped, “Do you really want to go there Thor? However, while we are on the subject, let me tell you, if this one leaves my service in any manner but of his own free will, Ragnarök will commence before that day is out. Do explain this to your little friends…and whoever is the current holder of their leash.”

Both Scary Chick and Rogers bristled, not that Loki seemed to care. Thor might have retorted, but apparently thought better of it after flicking a look sideways at the Old Geezer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title picture is a reuse of a manip I did for the CapRbb 2018. you might want to check out the whole thing and get information of Emmitha's great Loki & Bucky story, 'Unlikely Heroes' [Winter Wolf Graphic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14905865)
> 
>  
> 
> **Comments. Yeah, no matter how short, comments are lovely. :D (Kudos and bookmarks are nice too... just sayin')**  
> 


	8. Chapter 8 - Nations United

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Masks come off, deals are made, Ulf is BAMF.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arrrghhh!!! For some reason Old Bucky's italics keep getting stripped out. I thought I had fixed them all, but apparently I didn't. Hopefully, the third time is a charm. :( 
> 
> Many, many thanks to Beta's [EmuSam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EmuSam/pseuds/EmuSam) and [withinmelove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withinmelove/pseuds/withinmelove) But then I change things, so all mistakes are my bad.

**Nations United**  

Stark, who had decided to be a showoff--  
  
_A big fat showoff._  
  
I know right?  
  
\--flew ahead of them as they entered the United Nation’s parking garage, landing just as the limo’s door was flung open.    
  
The other guards piled out of their transports and immediately split in various directions to do a perimeter sweep of the garage. Winter, ignoring Rogers, exited with the other two guards, took point in front of the door, and joined them in doing a visual sweep. That is how he saw Clint, sporting a large bruise on the side of his face practically being shoved out of the lead SUV, and then shouldered out of the way by a stone faced Asgardian warrior.      
  
Scary lady was on him in a flash, hissing, “Do you not know how to keep your mouth shut Barton?”    
  
_Her name--_  
  
Hill, yes, I heard it. Don’t care. Eavesdropping, do you mind?  
  
“What were you thinking?”  
  
Clint, had ducked his head at an angle that kept Winter from trying to read his lips, not that he was very good at lip reading, and was now mumbling too low for even his enhanced hearing. Or Rogers’ if the jutting jaw, lowered blonde brows, and irritated tapping on an earphone was any indication. Fortunately for them, Hill was not keeping her voice quite so low.     
  
“What the hell did you expect?”  
  
“Well apparently their hearing is better than ours.”  
  
_He needs to stop arguing with her._  
  
“How did you think muttering about the King of Asgard being crazy in an SUV full of the king’s personal guards was going to go over?”  
  
_And waving his hands like that, it’s just pissing her off._  
  
Will you shut the hell up.  
  
“Look, Loki maybe a murdering pain in the ass, no one is arguing that, but apparently he is their murdering pain in the ass. And he is here at the express command of their king.”  
  
_Yeah? Well, can you see Steve’s been giving you the side eye since the minute Loki told him your new name?_  
  
Ignoring that, because yes he had,  
  
Winter watched as Hill hissed something nasty and waved a hand towards one of the SUV’s. Apparently, Arrow Boy has to sit in the car because he’d been bad. Winter just wished he could banish his inner Yenti so easily. The moment of truth was fast approaching, and he would prefer not being distracted by a comment from the peanut gallery every five minutes.  
  
Or more.  
  
“Thor!” A nicely stacked if unhappy looking little brunette exited the elevator carrying a large document pouch under one arm. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun, her lipstick was way too bright, her short waisted navy suit with severely tailored slacks was too tight, and black heels were insanely high.  
  
_And she’s still short. She can’t be over five foot three even in heels._  
  
“Lady Darcy!  
  
“You forgot to tell them to let me in you…”  
  
Lady Darcy, took a deep breath, which was something to see with her rack, and then straighten up and pasted what he supposed was a professional looking smile on her face. “Never mind. Could you introduce me?” She asked Thor, waving a hand towards the rest of the Asgardians.    
  
“Of course,” Thor boomed.  
  
The speakers on his helmet were of the best quality, and Blondie had absolutely no volume control, so while he wouldn’t go so far as to say his ears bled, he did notice that even Steve winced.  
  
“Lady Darcy, please let me introduce you to my brother Prince Loki, Lord Ulf Froðson and his chief Logmar Dagr Oddleifson, Logmar Vreiðr Skarpheðinnson, and…brows furrowing, Thor faltered before the youngest man.  
  
“Lodmund Rerirson,” Ulf interjected smoothly, “Greetings, Lady Darcy?”  
  
“Darcy Lewis,” She said crispy. “Thor asked me to make arrangements for your party sir,” She frowned. “Although he he wasn’t able to give me a count, so I’ll have to call and see if I can book a few more rooms. It may cost us.”  
  
“Us?” Ulf asked, glancing briefly up at Thor, apparently amused at something.  
  
“Well,” She pulled a paper out of her folder and handed it to him. “I figured that if Asgard is going to set up an embassy, or liaison office of some sort, you’re going to need someone native. So it wouldn’t hurt to get in on the ground floor job wise. I already have a ton of security clearances, a degree in political science that might come in useful, and plenty of experience dealing with covert organizations.”  
  
After a quick glance at Loki, most likely to see how he felt about the situation, Ulf studied her for a long moment, then asked, “Will Thor vouch for you?”  
  
“Indeed. Lady Darcy has always been most helpful when I required advice or assistance. And, the Lady Jane, has often remarked favorably on not only her scholarship, but also her problem solving abilities.”  
  
“A trial, at least, is certainly warranted,” Loki said as the two glanced over at him.  
  
“An excellent suggestion," Ulf said, handing the paper over to Rerirson to tuck into his document pouch. "Lady Darcy, you will accompany us after we leave here? We will discuss it at the lodgings you have procured.” The unspoken part of that being, as even Winter could tell, was that her choice of arrangements would be the first part of the trial. “If you would be so good as to accompany Rerirson until we leave, that would be much appreciated.”  
  
Amazingly enough, because she looked like a gabby doll, Lewis contented herself with a nod of thanks, and slid into place beside the other pouch holding member of their party. All cool, calm and professional, except for the huge grin and excited thumbs up she gave Thor when she thought no one else was watching.  
  
Loki, back turned towards the rest of them, whispered something to Ulf, and then came and stood beside Winter. From the way the older man’s eyes flicked over towards the Steve, and then to him, he had no doubt it was time to address the assassin in the room.  
  
“Captain Rogers, if I might have a word with you.”  
  
Winter tried not to worry as Rogers followed Ulf several yards away from both the Asgardian/comic book hero group and the United Nations officials who had followed the Lewis woman into the parking garage receiving area. The UN group had that whole minor functionary ‘don’t- mind-us- we’ll-just-admire-the-scenery-until-everyone-has-fixed-their-ties-tugged-their- jackets-into-place-and-are-ready-to-be-officially-approached’ nonchalance going on. Winter had watched more than enough of that sort of posturing through his scope as he waiting for his target to present the back of its head to him. Heart suddenly thumping in panic at that thought, he quickly scanned the area, relieved to note that no matter how ridiculous he might think they looked, the guards they’d brought with them were not the least bit the ceremonial, these guys were not only, hands on a weapon, constantly scanning, but each cluster of three seemed to have a pattern so that one of them kept their eyes on the main event, while the other two constantly scanned in different directions.  
  
Okay, so maybe they were decentish backup.    
  
Normally this would mean his heart rate returning to less damaging levels, but there is still the problem of Rogers’ upset sending his Mission Failure adrenaline levels sky fucking high, causing his stomach to start a slow clenching roll, and he can feel his hand getting clammy inside its black leather glove. Even though he is supposed to be talking to Ulf, Rogers seemingly can’t help constantly shooting covert, increasingly upset glances Winter’s way.  
  
_Steve._  
  
“Winter,” Loki’s voice is low, and due to a maddeningly incomplete memory of long ago comfort by a dark haired figure whose face he can’t quite make out, oddly soothing. “Delay will not change anything.”  
  
Winter would like to argue with the guy, but he’s right.  
  
“While I have no doubt, many words will be exchanged with Captain Steve Rogers, I am fairly confident they will not occur here. And perhaps, if we are very lucky, by the time we are somewhere more private Captain Rogers will have had time to calm down.”  
  
“Na boga nadeysya, a sam ne ploshay.”**  

“You have a god standing right beside you, and I assure you, in this instance, you may certainly rely on my assistance.”  
  
_Stevie will be glad to see you._  
  
Even if that true, he will probably be the only one, Winter retorted, then feeling sick, but knowing it has to be done he reached up and removed his helmet.  
  
“BUCKY!” Rogers high pitched excited tones from seeing his damn Bucky, mixed with somewhat shriller ones from seeing him standing next to the Menace of Fifth Avenue--  
  
Or whatever other stupid thing they called Pretty Boy in the press.  
  
\--Naturally caused everyone’s head to snap towards Steve, then seeing the direction that his attention was focused, to Winter. He counted six people going for their weapons, and had his already half out of its holster when Steve shouted  ‘BUCKY!’, but this time sounding terrified.  
  
_Stevie!_  
  
Moron!  
  
Dropping his stupid helmet, Winter lunged forward grabbing at Rogers, wincing internally as his metal  fingers dug under the stupid straps that went over Stevie’s shoulders, almost certainly bruising him. And then having swung the idiot out of the line of potential fire, wincing again as Rogers lost his footing and crashed onto the floor flat on his back. His shield making a horrible scraping noise as he slid a several feet.  
  
_I’m pretty sure that hurt Steve._  
  
Not as much as a bullet would have, Winter snapped, teeth clenching hard as his punishment conditioning ratched up so close to red line, he had spots dancing in front of his eyes. Which seemed pretty fucking unfair, since he didn’t ask the guy to try to shield him with his body. In fact, every son-of-a-bitching thing he’d done recently, becoming a Wolf, Entering Service, and now even tossing the jerk on his star-spangled ass, away from any possible incoming bullets, had been to reduce the pain his presence could cause Rogers.  
  
_Oh really? Haircut and manicure too?_  
  
The receiving area resembled a kicked anthill. People were shouting conflicting orders, diving for cover, aiming weapons, with the exception of a select few, including that stupid archer, who went flying as the Asgardians, reversed their spears and decided to play stick ball with the heads of people pulling weapons nearest them. Lighting up the redhead, whom he deemed the most immediate threat, Winter pulled out a knife with his left hand and flipped it into a throwing grip, and stepped in front of his secondary mission, Pretty Boy. Ignoring both the white hot pain spiking through his brain and the judgemental fucking nag he shared headspace with he was just about to pull the trigger when electricity from an unknown source started arcing everywhere, adding a completely unneeded panic response to try and take over his nervous system.  
  
“Hold!” Roared the other prince of Asgard, his shout paradoxically causing several shots to be fired, including Winter’s.  “Hold, I say!”  
  
A green soap bubble snapped into existence in front of him, catching his outgoing bullet, and knife (he’d aimed it at one of the joints on the Iron Man suit) and catching several incoming bullets… And what looked like a… Mini-missile?  
  
What the fuck was that all about?  
  
_Steeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeve!_  
  
Winter eyes almost crossed as that piercing shout drowned out every other noise around him, fought to keep his knees from buckling as his conditioning constriction neared blackout levels.  
  
“---tain Rogers. Your distress is causing him pain. You need to calm yourself, and if possible, regain control of your associates.” He heard Loki hissing in a low undertone. “Winter, it is safe to turn around and ascertain that your captain is alright. Your actions did not harm him in anyway, and I assure you the shield will hold long enough.”  
  
_Don’t you even say it._  
  
Don’t what?  
  
_And don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Not buying it pal._  
  
“What? Causing him pain? How?”  
  
Fuck, even trying not to fade out, Winter could hear the anguish his presence was causing Rogers. His training in pain shunting didn’t work worth a damn against self conditioned pain, but he managed not to faint when the muscles around his heart started spasming. And palm another knife, since being in agonizing pain was no excuse for not being prepared in case the bullet eating soap bubble disappeared. Nor was it an excuse for lack of vigilance, so he did not turn around to see Rogers, he would not turn around to see Rogers. Instead, Winter glowered, dead-eyed, and just on the edge of madness as those outside the soap bubble were slowly called to order. The intensity of his stare causing most whose eye he caught, to immediately look away.  
  
Loki and Rogers were still whispering back and forth at each other, when Ulf finished haranguing everyone about the retribution from on high that would occur if either Asgard’s Prince Envoy or his Crown Appointed Retainer were attacked for any reason, by anyone.  
  
OoooO  
  
  
He had no idea what all Pretty Boy had said, but from the minute the bubble popped out of existence Rogers was taking deep breaths and doggedly smiling at Winter. And if the smile sometimes slipped into more grimace than grin, it was quickly sun-shined up.  
  
Creepy.  
  
And that was all it took.  
  
_Don’t you say that about Stevie!_  
  
Old Bucky, who was obviously not having a good day, was yelling full throttle at volume. Hiding a wince Winter bent down to retrieve his helmet, if he spent a few extra moments getting his expression back to its implacable setting, at least at this angle no one could tell. Fortunately, tight pressed lips, were not the least bit out of place, either with his chosen mask or the surrounding company.  
  
You could quit hitting the high notes anytime asshole, he thought, straightening at last.  
  
As the bitter, sharply abusive criticism of Winter’s thoughts, actions and general existence by Old Bucky kicked up a notch, Winter set his jaw so hard, he was worried someone would hear his teeth creak.     
  
Of course he wasn’t the only one courting a broken tooth, no one else was looking too happy right about now. Well except for Ulf, Loki and the head UN flunky, they had an unfortunate-but-these-things-happen-shall-we-continue thing going on. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought a minor flunky had just dropped a teacup, as opposed to fired several rounds and a small missile. The Hill woman’s expression was more I-can’t-take-you-morons-anywhere, and pretty much directed at the comic book characters and grunts that she’d brought with her. Particularly the asshole in the robot costume who’d launched the missle. Honestly, who in the hell shoots missiles in a building.  
  
Rude.  
  
Well, except for him on several memorable occasions, that he would really rather have not remembered. Digging yourself out of rubble before the rescue squads arrived was a pain in more ways that one. But that’s how he knew it was a really fucking stupid thing to do. However at least this time he didn’t end up with any broken bones, thank you green soap bubble.  
  
Falling into position as indicated, Winter trailed after Loki, roughly in the middle of the reformed parade heading into the elevators. He was well aware that despite the best efforts of Ulf’s guards, Stevie was a few paces behind him, and still maintaining his not a real smile, smile.    
  
“It wasn’t my fault, they were caught by surprise at your companion’s identity,” Thor huffed under his breath, continuing an argument that started the moment the two brothers lined up beside each other.  
  
Loki hissed, “And can I just add, I thought the lightning surprising already trigger happy killers, was an inspired touch Thor. Inspired, I tell you. So much so that we almost didn’t need you to scream like a dying dragon to startle them into firing.”  
  
“Bide Odinsons.”  
  
Calmly preceding them, Ulf didn’t even glance back, both tone and body language indicating that he was well acquainted with the brothers habitual bickering. Not that Winter paid much attention to them, checking sightlines for problems, and unrelenting ranting by Old Bucky, incensed that Winter didn’t appreciate how absolutely wonderful Stevie was, took up most of his concentration. The bastard would not shut up. It was darkly amusing, in a not very ha-ha way, that after years of Hydra controlling him, he now had his supposed former self trying to do it. He fought back by resuming his inane stream of consciousness, comments about absolutely everything stupid thing he could think of.  
  
Somewhere, in the midst of Winter mulling over how many good sniper locations the central meeting hall had, the noise Howard Stark’s kid made every time he shifted his tin can, how he couldn’t believe the two princes were actually related, and how high up the list Old bucky was going to end up if he didn’t shut the fuck up-- Shit got done.  
  
Basically it boiled down to passing a ton of documents back and forth and a series of arguments:

  
‘This is a limited time offer, that will be accepted or rejected today, so call your heads of state.’  
‘No border was violated since it was never passed, we simply appeared within it.’  
‘Earth needs to get its act together, quickly if it doesn’t want to be ground zero of the attack.’  
‘The past is past, you need to worry about the future, or possible lack thereof.’  
‘Here is why you can’t do anything about Prince Loki, and would be wise to issue him formal thanks.’  
‘Yes, that advance force belonged to big, scary Thanos, who has lots more of them.’  
‘Previous it took the combined efforts of multiple realms to repel Thanos, does Earth want to go it alone?’  
‘Do not mess with a Crown Appointed Retainer, no matter who he used to be, it will not end well.’  
‘Odin is old as fuck, has no sense of humor, don’t even think of messing with with him’  
  
There was much screaming, wailing but at the end of it, Asgard was granted embassy status on earth, permanent observer status in the United Nations, diplomatic immunity for its staff, and a few other things. And just to be nice in return, Asgard would set up a foundation funded by licensing intellectual property, space stuff,  to assist lower income individuals who were adversely affected by the invasion of New York, and some guy in Germany.

And now it was late and Winter was frankly starving. Which was another one of those funny, in a not funny thing, since he’s often gone days without eating. Apparently decent food on a regular schedule was habit forming, and he, and probably all the damn delegates finally filing out of the room were more than ready for a late night supper, having missed dinner, and completely blown past lunch. Ulf was on a schedule that seemingly did not include breaking for something as unimportant as food. Everyone was just glad he’d agreed to a couple of piss breaks. And gladder still when that Lewis woman had been standing in the hallway with a basket of granola bars she’d slipped out of the chamber to snag from the cafeteria that no one was going to have time to visit.    
  
Having been standing at the back of the chamber with the other Avengers, Stark was one of the first to see her.  
  
“Whoa Darcy. Good job thinking ahead, toss one over will ya?”  
  
“Am I trying to get a job from you? No. You had your chance to hire me. Oh quit with the sad eyes,” She said, rolling her own. "Here, now move it buster, you and your tank are in the way.”  
  
“What? I don’t get a water too?” Stark asked, splaying a metal hand against his chest dramatically.  
  
“Use a fountain,” Lewis snapped, moving to block the bag of water bottles at her feet.  
  
Winter, in his position at Loki and Ulf flank, had gotten one of each. That had admittedly helped, but one granola bar several hours ago, she had been sadly absent at the next piss break, did not a meal make. So Winter was glad when they all, including unfortunately Rogers, the Avengers, and that Hill woman, trailed into the huge hotel suite to find Lewis, two of their guards that she’d somehow peeled off the detail, and a couple of hastily drafted hotel employees. Minus their cell phones from an initial pat down before they were allowed in the room, standing alongside an impromptu buffet. Not that it didn’t make his fingers twitch because he hadn’t conducted the search, nor was allowed to do a second one.  
  
Surprisingly Stark, not Rogers, who along with Hill had been excluded from the van limo on the way back to the hotel, was the first to start in on him.  
  
“Okay, just so we get this straight, you don’t obey Hydra anymore, you obey Loki?”  
  
“He’s my boss. I don’t obey him, I listen to him and do what he tells me to.”  
  
“Semantics. Listen to, obey.”  
  
Shooting him a sour look, Winter asked, “That Potts woman who works for you. Does she obey you? Or does she just listen to you when you tell her what to do?’  
  
“Honestly?” Stark shrugged. “Neither. She pretty much either ignores or yells at me.”  
  
“As well she should.” Loki said, coming up beside Winter, and gesturing to a small table placed well away from everyone else in the large room. “Winter, perhaps you and Captain Rogers would like a quieter spot to eat? Captain, please keep in mind what I spoke of earlier.” He turned towards Stark. “If you are done making inane comments, I would have a word with you.” And with that, Loki moved towards a small adjacent office area. Stark’s face did an odd scrunching thing, but in the end, he also headed towards the office. And while this could be attributed to curiosity of what his former enemy might have to say, Winter was willing to bet it had more to do with finding out what kind of tech the Asgardians would be licensing.  
  
_Stev--_  
  
Don’t you start. Cutting off his inner nag, Winter glanced over, acknowledging the vaguely worried but smiling anyway, Rogers shaped elephant, in the room. The guy was five minutes away from being a basket case, this was not going to go well, he just knew it. “Look, if you don’t mind. I’m kinda hungry. Do you think it’d be okay if I eat first?”  
  
Of fuck, now Rogers looked guilty and panicked. Something that didn’t do a thing for Winter’s blood pressure, or for that matter, his appetite. Still, going not hungry wasn’t going to improve mission readiness or make him feel any better.  
  
“Um. Of course. I’m kind of hungry too. can we--” Rogers’ puppy dog eyes flicked hopefully over to the table that Loki had indicated.  
  
Suppressing a sigh, Winter shrugged, and offered up a lopsided smile. “Sure. But after we eat, okay? I don’t want to be that far from the grub.”  
  
“Oh. Sure. Okay.” Rogers rubbed the back of his neck, his rueful smile not reaching his eyes, but thankfully not arguing. So Winter, with Rogers trailing behind him, beelined to the food tables, then plate loaded--  
  
_Overloaded.You could try for a little manners, you can go back for seconds you know._  
  
Get off my goddamn case, I’m hungry. Besides, your precious Stevie took just as much. Besides, it isn’t like any of the Asgardians are going to notice. They would use fucking pizza pans if the hotel had thought to set any on the buffet.  
  
Winter wedged in between two of the guards, and nodded to the empty seat across from him. And to give credit where credit was due, Rogers’ resigned sigh was almost inaudible. Since they were technically still on duty, there wasn’t much chit-chat at the table, beyond an occasional, ‘you need to try this’ or a muttered, ‘what the hell in this stuff?’ They’d been eating for like five minutes when a shrill shout of--  
  
“What? Are you fucking kidding me?!” rang through the room and had every guard at the table stiffening and lifting narrowed eyes towards the closed office door. Winter, pretty much able to guess what had caused the outburst from Stark kept his expression blank, and channeled all his anxiety into his fist hidden under the table. Fortunately his new arm didn’t make noise like the old one had, so he continued eating as if no action of his, had caused Stark to scream at a man who’d already shown himself willing to throw him out a window.  
  
_Nope. Not very smart at all._  
  
Winter did not grind his teeth. But the tone of his mental retort was far from pleasant.  
  
You. You  need to fucking shut up, I don’t need any constant comments from the peanut gallery.  
  
And he didn’t, after bugging the crap out of him all damn day, he didn’t need god damn Old Bucky trying to make nice just because he was sitting across from Stevie.     
  
Sadly, super appetite or not, no amount of food would last forever. “You ready?”  
  
Perking up immediately, Rogers nodded. “Sure am Bucky.”  
  
Winter did not roll his eyes. “Who the hell is Bucky?” the guard sitting two seats away muttered. His neighbor shrugged and continued eating. Rogers went rigid, and Winter reflected that Loki’s stupid Norns must really have it in for him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** “Na boga nadeysya, a sam ne ploshay.” - Hope for God, but do not be reliant.


	9. Chapter 9 - Not too Nice to Meet You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unwanted truths and discussions that don't end well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I had a chapter I overlooked and posted the wrong one!!!! Can you say distracted? This is the right chapter sorry!
> 
> And yet again, all the italics were stripped out. *leSigh* Why Ao3? Why? I love you, I donate twice a year, why do you do this to meeeeeee? (They should be all fixed now)
> 
> I am soooooo sorry this is late. I've spent the last two weeks making hour long trips (thru traffic) to a hospital and then being marginally comforting for several hours everyday. Fortunately, everyone is home now and barring bad news at the re-check, we should be okie-dokie fine. 
> 
> But that does mean that my chapter buffer was depleted. I shall strive to fix that. 
> 
> Many, many thanks to Beta's [EmuSam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EmuSam/pseuds/EmuSam) and [withinmelove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withinmelove/pseuds/withinmelove) for beta'ing

**Chapter 9 - Not too Nice to Meet You**  
  
His mission was to not cause Rogers harm, and, sadly for Winter, that encompasses more than knife play or a bullet. So, pussy-footing around the issue was going to cause Rogers mental harm, admittedly not as bad as trying to kill the guy, but still a mission fail. As they settled around the more private table, he took in Rogers hopeful but pained expression decided to cut right to quick. Hoping of course that some sort of acknowledgement that he isn’t fucking Bucky Barnes, and Rogers sure in the hell isn’t ‘Stevie’ could be achieved, before internal mission violation punishment got too intense.  
  
After all, Winter might not be Stevie's Bucky anymore. But that didn’t mean he wanted to hurt the guy.  
  
_Or kill him._  
  
Did I, or did I not tell you not to talk to me anymore?  
  
What actual memories he’d recovered, as opposed to learned via a briefing, were snapshots, many of them featuring Bucky and his Stevie taking care of each other through thick, and the much more common thin of life in the old time Brooklyn. Of course the best of them were tainted due to the years upon years of intense aversion torture. And even the ones that weren’t he was reluctant to follow, in case they led him to one that was. He’d been relieved that the Hydra conditioning packets hadn’t had any pictures of kid Stevie, who according to the brief snatches of memory he recently had flashed to him had been all puppies, and kittens, and when he smiled at his Bucky it was like a compact little package of sunrise, all light and color and warmth that could chase away even the coldest night. Who could have resisted trying to lose themselves in that memory when everything around them was pain, and hate, and angry people shouting at him in a language he didn’t understand? That the smile’s warmth had been meant only for Steve’s Bucky, apparently hadn’t kept Soldat from trying to retreat there, Or at least it hadn’t until they’d made it too painful to do so.  
  
“Buck? Are you okay?”  
  
No he really fucking wasn’t. He was so not okay that he totally missed someone reaching over the table to touch him. And he was sweating. And the metal hand peeling Rogers’ off his own wasn’t entirely steady. And now Rogers was looking upset. Shit. Shit. Shit.  
  
“Bucky? Do you even know who I am?”  
  
“My. My name’s not Bucky. And, yeah. I do. You’re Steven Grant Rogers, your mother’s name was Sarah, you used to put cardboard in your shoes, and you were Bucky’s best friend. You became Captain America, went missing, were found packed in ice, and became a superhero saving New York from space whales when that asshole over there first visited Earth.” He pointed to where Loki and a hard eyed Stark had exited the office sometime during this little zone-out.    
  
Steve just stood there, obviously trying to think of something to say to Winter’s intel dump. He sat down abruptly, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water obviously trying to force words out, but apparently not able to decide which ones. Never one to pass up an opportunity when it was presented to him, Winter wiped a hand across his sweaty face, and after drying it off on his pants leg, ran it through his hair, trying to unstick it from his forehead. Both were wasted actions as it turned out, since with the way his heart was pounding, he felt like he was drowning in cold clammy sweat. And honestly, his hair never cooperated even on a good day, which this definitely was not. However, he’d had enough induced heart attacks while they were testing his regenerative levels that he knew he wanted to avoid another one, so he needed to straightened Rogers out now, before his conditioning could kick him into another one.    
  
‘If you weren’t dead, complete the mission, or you’ll wish you were dead’, was of course an axiom he’d had pounded into him since mission one. And he’d learned how true it was in the most painful of ways; several of them he was pretty sure had involved punishment that not only brought him near death, but had had strayed over the line. Those memories of course were never tampered with, since it made no sense to have a trained killer who didn’t remember the consequences of failure. However, the exact details of correction that had possibly required resurrection, had a tendency to get a little fuzzy around the edges, no matter how excellent his mission memory was.  
  
_**Clever boy, don’t violate the mission, and there will be no cause to hurt you.**_  
  
You, shut the fuck up. I don’t listen to you no more.  
  
The handler nag had sounded almost concerned; but Winter knows from bitter experience that handlers were more worried about mission success than the feeling of barbed-wire constricted ever tighter around his temples that he is currently experiencing for even contemplating going against his mission instructions.  
  
A couple of deep controlled breaths allowed him to shunt aside enough of the punishment pain that he could at least have pretend that he wasn’t on the edge of curing up in a ball, and longing for permanent death. Or at least enough so that his voice was only a little on the thready side as he looked up at the concerned blond sitting across from him.  
  
“Question, do you know who I am?” Winter raised an admonishing finger, suppressing as best he could a fine tremor.  “Before you start, I gotta tell you, I ain’t that Bucky guy anymore. He’s dead Rogers you need to let him go. Trying to find him in me is just going to cause you pain in every way that matters.”  
  
Winter doesn’t pray of course. Anyone who had been through what he had, is well aware that even decades of prayer doesn’t work. But he has spent every waking moment trying to figure out how to complete his mission, and the way he can figure, both their sakes, is for Rogers to let this go? Move on with his life, and just let Winter have a couple of years that don’t involve one shitty mission after another before someone catches up with him and puts a bullet in his brain. Or, if his luck holds true to form, a Hydra recovery and retraining team catches up with him.  
  
“You could be.” Rogers said finally, because of course, Winter could not catch a break.  
  
Not that he hadn’t considered it. He wasn’t stupid, with the background information he’d gotten in Asgard and the excuse of brain damage, he could probably pretend to be Stevie’s Bucky. It basically came down to how long could he lie to the guy? For a while? A couple of years max? But how much harm would it do Rogers when he found out Winter was faking? And Rogers’ pain aside, did he want to be the kind of asshole who would do such a thing?  
  
_Stevie would understand._  
  
Understand my ass. Understand what? That I lied to him, that I was faking it. You don’t think that would be more devastated after years of believing that his best buddy had returned?    
  
Besides, Steve’s Bucky had seen some terrible stuff, but as bad as that had been; it was pretty much a drop in the bucket to what Soldat had experienced, some of which was bound to leak out causing Rogers to wonder, or more likely agonize over, how much Bucky was actually in there. After all, he’d been alive almost three times as long as Barnes had, so it was no wonder they weren't the same. Oh they shared a body... and a past, but that was pretty much it. And how long could Winter, for his own sanity, deal with Rogers looking through him to search for traces of his Bucky? He was tired of being a nothing. He wanted—  
  
He wanted just a bit of time for himself. He wasn’t greedy, even a year or two would be enough. And if it took hooking up with a Space Prince with Father Issues and an equally bad rep to keep him out of prison long enough settle Rogers and have a tiny slice of a life for himself? So be it.  
  
_Stevie’s waiting._  
  
Winter blinked.  
  
**_Becoming lost in thought twice in one night. Bad form Soldat._**  
  
Oh. Right. Where were we?  
  
_Stevie thinks you could be Bucky if you wanted to. I think so too, in fact, I know so._  
  
“I could be,” He said, ignoring his inner handler to answer Rogers and Old Bucky. “But whatever was in me that was him is gone. Or, tainted so badly I don’t ever want it back, no matter how much you might want it. Look, Rogers, I spent years having everything that was important to your Bucky used as a weapon against me, can you understand why I don’t want to be him anymore? Could I pretend so that you feel better about me? Sure, but what’s going to happen a few years from now when either I can’t take pretending anymore and snap, or you finally quit lying to yourself and face the truth. Bottom line. I am not Bucky. Hell, I’m not even James Barnes anymore.”  
  
Suspiciously damp eyes searched his face, no doubt looking for traces of his old pal Bucky. After a long moment of not finding him, Rogers’ face crumpled, his brows furled and his jaw clenched hard, but still no enough to keep his chin from quivering as full on anguish manifested itself.  
  
Fuck.  
  
But, it was Rogers’ hitched breath that was triggered a kicked up level of correction that had Winter clenching his own jaw in an attempt not add to the feedback loop, because sure as shit, him gasping in pain, melting onto the floor so he could roll up in a ball and try to die was definitely going to cause Rogers even more emotional harm.  
  
_You better warn him._  
  
What? Oh. Right. Yeah, that might help, at least a bit.    
  
“Look, Rogers, if I pass out don't worry, it’s just a conditioned pain response.”  
  
Rogers voice, somewhat shrill from panic demanded, “Pass out from pain? Why?” He rose half out of his chair, voice dropping down to a low menacing growl, "What pain? Did he hurt you?"  
  
Blowing controlled breaths like a woman in labor—  
  
When had he seen that?  
  
Winter huffed out a long breath, “My mission is to not harm you. You would think this wouldn’t be a problem, right?” He assayed a shrug, before regretting, and instead drew in a large gulp of air. “Well you’d be wrong. Unfortunately for me the mission doesn’t differentiate between physical and emotional harm."  
  
"And if you violate your mission order?"    
  
He had to huff and blow a twice times before answering. "It varies depending on how far off course I go. A migraine if I’m lucky. What feels like a heart attack if I’m not." Winter attempted a reassuring smile. But from the look of deepening horror on Rogers’ face, it most likely wasn’t a successful attempt.  
  
Damn.  
  
“Buck, I don’t understand. Why would Hydra give you a mission not to cause me pain?”  
  
Eshkin Cat the guy was fucking dense.  
  
“Don’t be stupid Rogers.”  Fresh spikes of pain ran up his spine. “Hydra wanted me to put a bullet in your brain. Then they tried to reset the mission, probably to take you prisoner in revenge for you fucking up their plans, but when they tried to reset the mission and the horned wonder killed the handler before he could say anything and gave me do no harm instructions.”  
  
“Loki! It’s all his fault!”  
  
“Yeah, it’s a shitty no win mission, that’s for fucking sure.” Winter wheezed, listing slightly in his chair. “But what do you think you would have done if I had just disappeared without another word to you?” He tried to focus on a Roger through the black spots now dancing before his eyes. “Or if I hadn’t and came back. What would they have done to you if you tried to protect me from all the people who want me dead or in prison?”  
  
Rogers was almost to his side, when he gasped, “Think about that a minute,” as he slid to bonelessly to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a rough few weeks, so any chocolates or comments offered would be most appreciated. :D


	10. Chapter 10 - Telling it like it is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is heartbroken, Winter has work to do, and in addition to Steve bugging him, an unwelcome voice briefly makes an appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so part of this chapter was accidently posted last week. But part is new, and since I was a slug, part is beta'd and the second part is not back yet. So I no doubt have a ton of typos there that I will have to retroactively fix... sorry. I should have waited, but I did want keep on schedule. I will say I currently have two new chapters out to beta, so hopefully that won't happen again. 
> 
> Beta's [EmuSam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EmuSam/pseuds/EmuSam)

**Chapter 10 - Telling it like it is**

“Bucky!” Rogers’ anguish was like a wave, trying to push him under just as he was trying to get some air.

“Captain!” Loki snapped reproachfully, and despite the thick rug under him, approaching footsteps echoed beneath Winter’s ear. “You forget yourself. Has Winter harmed you in any way, or am I the cause of your distress?”

“What? No. Of course he hasn’t. This is all your doing, I know it.” The bands across Winter’s chest eased, allowing him to breathe. Strong hands helped him onto his hands and knees before he angrily shrugged them off. He wasn’t an invalid.

“Winter, can you hear me?” He nodded, afraid to speak as he fought down the bile that had risen during the attack. “Your Captain is not upset with you. You are not in violation of your mission.”

While there was some dissension among the various voices about Rogers not being upset, he was glad the mission decided to take the man at his word. But not so glad that he’d let things pass.

Blinking through the hair hanging down in his face, he looked at Loki standing nearby and croaked, “Not my Captain.”  

“Indeed, I will try to remember that.” Leaning down he offered Winter a hand, hauling him to his feet as easily as if he'd lifted a kitten by the scruff of its neck. “As I am sure will Captain Rogers, since neither of us wish to cause you any distress in the matter.” The last being said as more in the manner of an implacable warning to Rogers as opposed to a remark intended for Winter.

After giving Winter a slight nudge towards the chair he’d slid off of, Loki wafted across the room and plucked some cloth napkins up, as well as a few bottles of water from the ice tub they’d been sitting in, and returned to plunk them all down on the table in front of him. Carefully avoiding looking at Rogers, Winter uncapped one of the water bottles and splashed about a third of its contents on a napkin and proceeded to wipe his face and neck, not coincidentally using the wet cloth to block Rogers from catching his eye.

"You did this. You're the reason he won't come home. The reason he can even talk to me without being punished."

"Oh, I do beg your pardon Captain; I had literally a second to come up with an instruction for your friend that would keep you safe without harming him. You do realize it would have been much less trouble to have ordered him to go on a suicide mission. Or indeed to have just killed him myself to keep you safe for the upcoming battle, I am devastated that you think I chose poorly."

_The guy can't help but talk snotty can he?_

"Now I ask you what command would you have given him?"

“Well it wouldn’t have--”

“I didn’t ask what you wouldn’t have said,” Loki interrupted before commanding with rapid fire speed. “Quickly now. What instructions you would have given. You must tell him now or the chance will have passed. What are your orders Captain? You have to the count of five. One, two--

“Be nice to dogs!”

…

_What the--_

Loki’s brows knit as he demanded incredulously, "That is what you would have told him? Be nice to **_dogs?_ ** "  

And to be honest, Loki was not the only one looking dumbfounded. Hell, even Old Bucky was muttering, ‘ _Oh, fuck Stevie.’_ and various phrases along those lines.

Howard’s son asked while shaking his head in disbelief, “Seriously Capicicle? Be nice to dogs?”

Flustered, Rogers sputtered, "Yes? No? I don’t know."

"And would this kindness to dogs have conflicted with the instructions he already had to eliminate you?" Loki asked in a voice of syrupy sweetness that pretty well telegraphed that in his humble opinion that they would not have.

Rogers was starting to get defensive. "I told you, I don’t know."  

Loki sniffed dismissively. "Well neither did I. The only thing I did know was that I wanted him to stop trying to kill you."

"But why? You didn’t know him, so why help him at all?”

“Can I not have been simply doing a good deed?” Glancing at the expressions of the other occupants, he miming disappointment, before declaring sourly, “What? Did you think I never have?”

Due to recent personal experience, Winter was inclined to ascribe both a propensity for good deeds and a generous nature to the slender prince, but from the skeptical looks everyone else was giving him they apparently wouldn’t have.

_Not even his own brother? Honestly?_

Shrugging mentally, Winter declined to get into an internal discussion on sibling dynamics, and instead said, “I think originally he was planning on using me to bribe you.”

Loki cast his eyes heavenward as if to ask for a more divine intervention than he could himself provide. “Oh. Yes. You guessed it exactly. Because Yirm knows, I’d have had to bribe y-- Captain Rogers to save his world when the Nine Realms comes under attack.”

Just as Rogers had opened his mouth to reply Winter retorted, “Well you spent so much time trying to get me and Rogers together, it sure seemed like that. Unless getting us to go steady was your plan.” Rogers mouth snapped shut again, as a wild flush colored his neck and cheeks. “And if it wasn’t? There’s no need to be a smart shit about it.”

“I can hardly help it,” Loki confessed, eyes lighting with amusement as a sly smile unfurled on his face.

“Well then what’s with all the Wolf Stuff? If you wanted Bucky to come home?” Rogers demanded.

Having been suppressed for decades, Winter’s eye roll was truly epic. And deeply cathartic.

_Don’t be like that towards--_

Just fucking zip it! Winter snapped at the current placeholder for number fifty-two, before turning his attention to Rogers. And yeah, him being blunt was courting black spots dancing before his eyes again, but Geez Louise he just wanted this settled.  

“Pull your head outta your ass Rogers, and listen. If I had ‘come home’ what do you think would have happened? I’d a got _my_ head blown off? Don’t shake your head no it almost happened today. The best I could have hoped for was getting tossed into prison for the rest of my days. And the same thing would have happened to you if you’d managed to get between me and a bullet, or tried to keep them from arresting me. And let’s not forget about those Hydra assholes. I’m sure they wouldn’t have had any problem snagging me back once I was locked up. Face it, as much as you might want to cover my back, you can’t. Particularly not with that SHIELD of yours being disbanded because they _were_ Hydra.”

Almost shamefully, Rogers’ eyes flicked away before he took a deep breath. The noble righteousness stiffening his resolve was almost visible. “You could’ve come to me and at least let me try.”

Lenin on a pogo stick this guy--

“Yeah? I’m sure me knocking on the door of Avenger Tower would have went over like a brick balloon. Excuse me, please ignore the fact that I am an internationally wanted assassin, could you call Rogers down for me, I just want to speak to him for a moment.”

“No one would have bothered you,” Rogers insisted earnestly.  

“Well _I_ certainly won’t now,” Stark offered, with what sounded like a lingering touch of regret. “I made a deal with the Prince of Darkness here not to pursue any old vendettas.” Rogers frowned at Stark.

“Tony, what are you talking about?”

“Unless la Femme Nikita here does something else, he’s clear as far as I am concerned.” Then Stark made a face and shrugged, noisily what with all the noise the joints of his suit and servo motors made. “Well not clear, but there were extenuating circumstances, so I made an agreement not to blast him into little parent murdering bits.” He fixed a hard stared at Rogers, “But if he had just shown up here? Made nice with us all, and _then_ I had found by out about him… and my mom?” Rogers started, the tint of rose still present from being embarrassed draining away until he was almost white as Stark continued. “Who knows what I would’ve done if that had happened. Nothing good I’m sure.”

“So… You made a deal? You let yourself be bought off?”

“Which side on you on anyway?” Stark snapped, irritated. “I’m a businessman you know, but in answer to your incredibly rude question, no.” Stark held up his hands and made an odd motion with the first two fingers of each one, “But the offered ‘Wergild’ did stop me long enough to at least listen to the extenuating circumstances.”

Rogers was speechless. And distressed, but since he wasn’t the one causing it, Winter figured now was as good a time as any to take a shot at making the guy understand the realities of the situation.

“When did you stop worrying about money?” he asked. “I’ve read how you grew up, and none of the briefings I was given mentioned you were rich.”

Whipping around to look at him so fast he would have no doubt had suffered whiplash if not for his super soldier serum, Rogers forehead was so wrinkled in confusion he looked like one of those Chinese guard dogs.

It was not a good look on him.

_Hey!_

“It isn’t like I ever got a paycheck from the Russians or Hydra, so I sure as shit don’t have a pot of money sitting in a bank anywhere that I could live off of. After years of never knowing if or when I was going to be fed, three squares a day is a definite improvement and something I’d like to become accustomed to. And that, pal, takes money. So even if I didn’t need to worry about the possibility of being killed, re-captured, or imprisoned, I’d still need someone willing to give me a goddamn job.” Winter tossed his head in Loki’s direction, and waved a hand down the front of his armor, “While the outfits might be a bit gaudy,” Loki tch’ed, only partially under his breath. “Working for him pays good and Asgard’s protection is the current reason I haven’t already been shoved in a deep hole to be interrogated and tested until they _‘accidentally’_ kill me.  

“Loki must like you,” Thor rumbled with a wide smile, interrupting whatever Rogers had been about to say.

“I don’t think he likes anybody.” Winter replied, still maintaining eye contact with an unblinking Rogers.

“Well, precious few,” Thor agreed, “but you have insulted his armor; if I or any of our friends had done this, we’d have already had our own armor disappear or had our hair turn into snakes.” Thor crossed over and with enough force to make even Rogers stagger a bit; he clapped a huge hand on his shoulder. “It is perhaps time to face facts Steven. He may not be your childhood companion, but at least your Bucky is still alive, after a fashion. And who knows, mayhap you can be shield brothers in the future. This is really a blessing from the Norns, so I would not be so quick to despise it. They can be quite vengeful to those who spurn their gifts.”

After a quick look that indicated that he was questioning Thor’s sanity, Rogers reluctantly agreed, even though it was plain he didn’t want to.

“True, but not with…” Jaw jutting out so strongly he was the picture of the old soviet propaganda poster boys, Rogers side eyed Loki a moment before looking back to glower at the now less than amused Viking in front of him. Plainly, as far as Captain-Pain-in-the-Ass was concerned, Asgard’s younger son was the anti-Christ.

Rogers was a complete hypocrite-- 

_No, he isn’t._

YES. Yes, he is. A big fat star spangled hypocrite, he doesn’t like Horns because he did terrible things? Well, if he is insisting that no matter what, I’m his ol’ pal, then so did his precious Bucky. Because face it, I killed lots of people. Pretty fuckin’ terrible wouldn’t you say? Worse, sometimes my actions help prop up repressive regimes or helped trigger wars, but Rogers is apparently ready to overlook all of that for his precious Bucky.

…

Not feeling at all smug about finally shutting up his opinionated inner asshole.

Honestly.

Winter twisted the knife. But just a little, by adding, and he’s stupid too, because the guy he’s bad mouthing has already, one on one, whupped his ass. Not to mention that he’s standing there telling this to the guy’s bigger, badder brother. Besides, Winter testily informed his nag, the two of us didn’t voluntarily sign up to work with the bad guys like your precious _Stevie_ did.

Breaking a silence that was going tenser by the moment, Loki eyed Rogers speculatively before asking, “Captain, it is unreasonable to expect that Winter would be unchanged by his ordeal. Do you think perhaps a final decision on your friend’s new life choices might be delayed a few months? Or at least until we’ve all had a night to rest and reflect?”

OoooO

The next day was another long one, while the Asgardians Loki, Thor, Ulf and his underlings began conferring at o’dark thirty in the morning because, as he’d discovered while in Asgard, in addition to being stronger than fuck, they apparently didn’t need much sleep. Winter, in the meantime, assisted Lewis in locating a high security office building with a SCIF suite available for rent. Immediately.

“Thankfully, this is New York City,” Lewis told him after getting off the phone with some doll named Melea that she had gone to college with. “I’ve already gotten several calls from various government agencies offering assistance, but I think I’ll just call the broker Mel suggested and see if she has an agent willing to double time it.” And not surprisingly, since Lewis was apparently authorized to spend money like water, they did. That was how Winter ended up spending the day reviewing building layouts, Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility certifications, and the security procedures on three buildings the agent could come up with on such short notice.

Since Ulf was taking all most all of the Asgardians back with him, the space only had to have two offices and a reception area. Basically it was somewhere safe that Lewis, or rather the newly renamed Dagný Lífdóttir could

_"Oh wow.” Darcy exclaimed looking up from the packet of papers that junior flunky Lodmund had prepared for her at Ulf’s direction. “Does it mean anything? Like maybe Goddess of Files or She Who Arranges Meetings?”_

_“Sadly no.” Loki told her with a barely suppressed grin. “Dagný  means new day, and Líf means life.”_

_Lewis let out a bark of quickly smothered laughter, “Darcy’s New York Life! I like it.”_

_“You have no idea how over joyed I am to hear this,” Loki continued dryly amused manner as if he hadn’t been just been interrupted by his newest underling, “Of course various government agencies will know who you are, but since none of your work will be face to face, your true identity will not be available to every commoner on Midgard.”_

 And to assure the safety of Asgard’s newest underling, in addition to the wards and spells Loki intended to place on her and whatever office space they chose, Winter had called upon the many advanced training courses he’d had over the decades to check out the various building schematics provided, as well as evaluating their security arrangements.  And while he himself was not a computer programmer, he’d acquired—

_Painfully._

—Enough training on how to get into computer systems and, more importantly, the addresses for dozens of sites that hid hacking scripts that could be customized to run deep background checks on the broker and leasing agent themselves.

Busy with his own tasks, he was unaware that Lewis had fobbed off Rogers’ phone calls three times before lunch, each time reminding him that former best pal-slash-brainwashed-assassin had a job now.

“But, I’m not entirely heartless,” she said, handing Winter her ringing phone after she had orchestrating the care and feeding of the whole group. “Tell Cap that I have you guys scheduled in for a training meeting as soon everyone heads back to Asgard tomorrow. If he bugs you about coming over this evening, tell him we’re working late and you need your beauty sleep.”

Which he did, even if he totally didn’t. As Soldat, he’d not been one to spend time in front of a mirror, but reflective surfaces couldn’t totally be avoided, no matter how hard he had tried. So he’s well aware of how scruffy, and frankly deranged he had looked. And that is definitely not how Winter looks now. He is no longer hollow eyed, and barely hygienic. Not to put to brag or anything, but his hair is glossy, his eyes are bright, his complexion has some color to it and he looks damn fine.

_You could shave more than three times a week. Even Loki’s mentioned it._

And you could shut up; I don’t _want_ to shave more.

_And your, oh so, glossy hair **could** use another trim._

Yeah, okay, that one he couldn’t argue with, his Asgard hair cut _was_ looking a bit overgrown. 

OoooO

The wergild, paid to Stark for Soldat’s involvement in the death of his parents, was that Stark International would be the exclusive developer and distributor for the technologies funding Asgard’s charitable foundation. Any normal person would have been thrilled, since from what Winter had overheard not only would the agreement be extremely profitable, but would also open up new areas of research for Earth, for which Stark Industries would have the inside track.

However the fact that Stark Industries was being invited to compete with Hammer, Nemo, VanceCo and Transia Corporation for a partnership with Friggson Enterprises, an umbrella company Loki was putting together for his own maintenance funding, was not sitting too well with Howard Stark’s son. Which most likely was the cause of his crappy attitude during the first brainstorming session on how to work Loki into the now absent Thor’s place.  

“So, Lokes, you popped down to earth to pick up a bodyguard? Odd, but let’s run with it. Why him? If you wanted someone pre-equipped, surely you could have done better than a 1917 MurderBot?”

“Stark, is your oblique way of telling me you are offended because I didn’t pick you?” Loki smirked, before dropping his voice to a low purr, “Are you that eager to show off your own equipment?”

Barnes huffed dismissively.

**_Be careful Clever Boy, there is a limit to the indulgence you are afforded._ **

Yeah? Well, it’s a lot higher than it used to be, asshole.

Stark, not yet wearing his tin suit, hopped off the conference table that the others were sitting around, and sauntered over towards Loki, with way too much hip roll for someone not looking for a trick.

“Ha, ha, Rock of Ages, you wish. You couldn’t afford me.” Lightly tapping Loki’s chest with the back of his hand, twice, Stark tried out a smirk of his own. While Loki just looked down at the shrimp in an amused fashion, Winter was calculating the twist he would have to put on his throw to break the jerks wrist if he tried getting handsy with the Boss again. “I’m afraid if you wanted an Avenger, you would have had to settle for Captain Spangles here.”

“He doesn’t like blonds.”

Stark’s head whipped around. “Really? And you know this how?” Possibly with an eye towards self-preservation the inventor didn’t quite leer, but it was a close thing. Winter just lifted his metal hand and glanced from it to Stark as he curled and uncurled it into a fist. 

_Oops._

“Okay, so you may be a nineteen-seventeen model, but honestly?” Stark pushed his long sleeved t-shirt to mid forearm before spreading his arms out a bit. “You clean up good, I’ll give you that. And nice do-over on the outfit, the new one is much less bargain basement mercenary. The bling on your vest and arm? Cute. And you carried the hint of bling over to your guns. Classy. But no matter how pretty a blacken and gold washed CZ VZ 61 E Skorpion is, you still only got twenty rounds, a couple of knifes and whatever little gems you have in your belt mounted makeup bags.” The faint whooshing noise that Winter had detected a moment ago was revealed to be parts of Stark’s suit which zoomed into the room and assembled around him, as he concluded with. “So, in the end, you lose.”

Winter did not refrain from rolling his eyes at the armor-clad idiot trying to taunt him--  

_Cute._

I know, right. I could have killed him three times before his tin can had sealed.

\--instead he flipped open one of his ‘makeup bags’ to draw out a twenty round clip for his Skorpion. One that could not have possibly fit in there, except for it did. Tossing it to Stark, who fumbled the catch a bit before latching on to it, big-assed metal gauntlets not being ideal for catching things. Winter then drew out another one, tossed it, and then pulled out a third, holding it up so they could both admire it. “I have plenty more where this one came from, asshole. And, I still have three other ‘makeup bags’ packed full of other fun space shit.”

Pretty much green with envy, Stark looked from the clips in his hands, to Winter’s belt and then over to Loki. “So, Maleficent, let’s talk business.”

“Let’s not Stark, we are here to discuss team integration are we not? For business, you need to call Ms. Lewis and set up an appointment. And I warn you, with the way your planet’s governments, not to mention its news and security organizations, are pestering me, my time is may be quite limited for some time to come.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... as you can see at the beginnings of my signature slice of life sections. In addition to the stuff already at beta, I can add more, or cut to the chase... What say you?


	11. Chapter 11 - Suits & Bears Don't Mean Wall Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter is stressed by expectations, Steve is just stressed. Loki tries to deal with both, in his own Loki-ish way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is the other part of this chapter that was accidently posted a few weeks ago. And of course some new stuff. 
> 
> I am proud to announce I have the next chapter in reserve and might actually finish the one after that soon. So, yay me! 
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [EmuSam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EmuSam/pseuds/EmuSam) whose beta comments always crack me up. :)

**11 -Chapter - Suits & Bears Don't Mean Wall Street **

 Loki may have been busy, but apparently dressing well trumped almost every other priority.

Sitting in the rather plain wooden chair with all the majesty he’d used while upon the throne of Asgard, Loki had pinched the bridge of his nose a moment. Then, with a rather pained expression, he’d waved the attending tailor away, asking the man for a few moments of privacy.

It was the first time Winter had really rebelled against anything that wasn’t security related since he and Loki had left earth. And to be honest, he was surprised that Loki was taking it so well. He suppressed a shudder at a quick memory flash of being kitted out for Hydra missions. He knows what would have been his immediate punishment if he’d refused the gear given or had growled at _those_ handlers. Winter tore his gaze away from the exiting tailor, fixing it resolutely on the floor instead, Loki was not his handler. He was his… Partner? Ally? Shield Brother? No, that one was just stupid. Employer? Boss? The god--

_Alien._

He says god.

_He’s also full of shit half the time. Alien._

Fine. Alien. The a _lien_ was his _boss,_ not his handler. Still, disobedience, _was_ previously an unpermitted behavior, and as such it still caused certain involuntary reactions. Suppressing a sigh, Winter reluctantly recognized that this free agency stuff was going to take a while to make its way into the darker corners of his fucked up brain.   

“Winter, please don’t scowl at the floor. I assure you it isn’t necessary.”

And it really wasn’t. He’d not been disciplined for insolence, namely  making direct eye contact while on Asgard. However. Rational, or not, they were back on Earth, and Winter was having to struggle against some ingrained behaviors. So he continued to glare at long legs, and well-polished shoes rearranging themselves as Loki shifted in his chair.   

“I honestly do not understand what the problem is. A suit is no more uncomfortable than your new armor, or indeed the garb you wore when we first met, why are you so set against it?” Loki asked, sounding more puzzled than angry.

Shooting a quick glance at Loki, Winter sourly considered his situation for several moments. His new mission parameters were frankly fucking confusing, and he honestly still didn’t have a handle on how he was supposed to not hurt Steve Rogers, when his presence would cause the man as much pain as his absence did. And he did appreciate that his new job provided him with protection, resources, and a source of nightmare-preventing medicine. Even if his _boss_ was a bit of a prissy asshole who spent way too much time worrying about aesthetics. The last of which Winter really wouldn’t care about, if he wasn’t determined to extend those worries to Winter’s appearance also.

_But on the plus side your hair is properly trimmed, shiny and silky smooth._

Okay, so yeah. That part was nice. And, not that he would ever admit it to anyone even if they put a gun to his head, he’s also enjoyed going to the Peninsula Spa, right across from the hotel they are staying at. Or at least he’d enjoyed it after doing a thorough security check, which included a pat down of the three attendants who were assigned to them. In addition to them working on his hair, he’d also gotten a facial mask, pedicure and foot massage.

_The clear coat on the nails was a bit much, but the massage…_

I know, right? Who knew the damn things could feel so good. His feet were now all minty refreshed, and that nagging tightness just in front of his arches, totally gone. If he hadn't been a fully trained assassin with years of training at repressing outward signs of emotion he would have been moaning orgasmically. Even with all his training, it had been a close thing. And he definitely knows he’d have never gotten a foot massage no matter how long he worked for Hydra.

_And the staff were a lot nicer too._

They were, not that being nicer than a taser-wielding Nazi asshole was that high a bar. Still, sparkling fruit drinks, as many tiny cookies as he wanted, and they didn’t even mind that he’d held his pistol in his lap the entire time. Next week he was thinking of getting his pores exfoliated. Whatever that was.

_Still, suits._

True. Returning to the problem at hand, he flicked his gaze up and noted that Loki didn’t even look impatient at the time it was taking Winter to answer. Frankly, having to decide non-mission related behavior was fucking gut wrenching, particularly now, as it meant he constantly had to decide what was or wasn’t the good kind of disobedience. Not that his contract allowed any Hydra-grade correction or re-education.

_Oath._

Oaths are just verbal contracts.

_Semantics._

Deal with it. His _contract_ didn’t have any real penalties for refusing to follow an order, other than dismissal, of course.

_Docked pay for habitual lateness._

Well, and that. However, anything that doesn’t include re-programming with cattle prods while restrained is a plus. Besides, his mission success probability would be into negative numbers without the benefits of being protected and employed by an Asgardian Prince. Which begged the question, how badly did he not want to wear a fucking suit.

“Look, armor is supposed to be uncomfortable, clothes aren’t.”

Which was true wasn’t it? Neither his Asset, nor Asgard clothing had ever been comfortable, but there was a reason for that. Those outfits were basically armor; the Asgardian version was just fancier. And for the protection provided, you had to put up with a certain level of discomfort. Although, Winter would be the first to admit, unlike the uncomfortable pinching and rubbing he’d endured with his Hydra gear, his Asgardian kit fit so well, that most of its discomfort was just from the sheer weight of it. But even that was still less than his Asset gear had been.

 _Still, buckles_ _._

True. The thirty-seven buckles and snaps to get it on, and the aggravation of dealing with those same buckles when it came time to take it off without expending the energy calling it or banishing it would entail.

Loki cocked his head, waiting to see if Winter was going to say anything else. When it became apparent that he wasn’t, Loki said, “I would not say you were wrong, but I would point out that depending upon the circumstances, a well-made suit _is_ armor. It is designed to protect you from those who respect only the power of great wealth, or high station. And as armor, it is perhaps, admittedly, not the most comfortable thing to wear. But, when properly tailored, it isn’t as bad as all that. Certainly nothing like your original armor, although I will admit ties are a Midgardian trial that I could live without.”

After several moments of silence, he spoke again.

“Winter,” Loki said, his chiding tone causing a brief moment of disconnect as the man’s features were momentarily over laid with memories of a dark haired woman who had cared for Bucky, even if he’d tried her patience daily. “Please, explain to me why this is causing you difficulties.”

“Look, in all the briefings, that Bucky guy rarely wore a suit--”

“That Bucky guy _was_ you,” Loki reminded him calmly, for maybe the hundredth time.

_He’s never going to shut up about it, so just humor him._

“Yeah, maybe. But he still wasn’t wearing suits all the damn time.” Winter shot a disgusted look at the suit-laden tailor’s rack. “I may have to wear armor on a mission, but I want—”

_Hydra doesn’t own you anymore._

They didn’t, but decades of ingrained correction had left its mark. So if beads of sweat sprang up at his temples as a tendril of fear snaked down his spine, it wasn’t a surprise.

_Could be worse, it could be like the first time._

True. It had almost killed him the first time he’s expressed a _want_ in this new life. That had been a cup of coffee. And hadn’t he been fucking pissed to find out that he’d wasted it on something that wasn’t even available in Asgard.

_Devastated._

Let’s split the difference and call it really disappointed. Of course it had been _freely_ provided to him the next morning. And, every morning after that. After all, he was Vargr Fimbulvetr, Loki’s _Winter Wolf,_ and he could **_want_ **. That was allowed now.

Nodding, and somehow knowing exactly what Winter was thinking, Loki asked, “You remember that you are allowed to want anything within reason. Yes? And that is within my kind of reason, not old time Bucky reason, and definitely not Hydra reason.”

_He’s doing it again. That creepy guessing thing._

“Look, it isn’t that I don’t want to look good. ‘Cause, let’s face it, I clean up nice.” The corners of Loki’s lips twitched up a bit at that. “It’s just—I just want to be comfortable for a change. And wearing suits all the fucking time? That isn’t my idea of comfortable.”  

Loki’s eyes were brimming with amusement, and almost against his better judgment, Winter allowed a small curl to tug at the corner of his mouth. And seeing his lopsided smile, Loki’s voice took on a bit of a wheezing note, “My Vargr,” Loki’s face wrinkled up, as he struggled to keep from laughing out loud. “What in the Nine made you think that suits were the only Midgardian garb you were going to be provided? And even if they were, you _do_ have wages, you can buy whatever you want.”   

Fuck. He did have money now. Money that could be used for non-mission related stuff.  How did he keep forgetting about that?

“You told the tailor I needed eight of them. Eight’s a lot of suits if I’m not going to be wearing one every day.”

“Indeed, so I did.” Loki pulled a handkerchief out of thin air and proceeded to dab at his eyes a moment before making the crisp white square disappear again. “But consider, like good armor, suits take time to make, particularly when they have to be constructed by a tailor who understands that the suit has to hide weapons. However, unlike armor, should we have a problem, even moderate physical activity will completely ruin them. Therefore you will need several spares.”

Winter fingered the fabric on the suit hanging beside him. Loki did have a point.

_It is pretty thin._

True. It probably wouldn’t take more than a few rolls across pavement to ruin it. 

_Possibly even less._

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed.” Loki lifted a brow. “Now, do you think you might let the tailor take your measurements without you making noises like an irritated bear?”

“Okay, but when he’s done, I’m getting some jeans.”

_What about your scarf?_

“And I want a scarf. Maybe I want more than one even.” And if Winter didn’t phrase this as a request, it was okay, because he was allowed to want now.

OoooO

Since it would be a few days before his suits were delivered, Winter was enjoying being able to lounge around in a pair of indigo jeans, a gunmetal grey, long sleeve, three button pullover, and a cloud soft long scarf that Loki had pointed out him; noting it was the exact shade of blue as Winter's eyes. Or at least he was until a strange noise caught his attention. 

“Winterrrrrrr.”

_Is he cooing at us?_

Hopefully not.

Head still down over the laptop he was working on, Winter did glance up through his bangs, frowning at the doorway.

“I have something for you,” Loki sang, still somewhere down the hall but getting closer.

This cannot be good.

And it wasn’t.

Rounding the corner to the suite’s small entry room, Loki smiled at him. It was a strangely sinister smile.

“Ah! There you are.” Loki held out a large matte black shopping bag with a white lettered square on the front, positively overstuffed with white fluffy paper that stuck out the top.

_Disturbing._

Okay, the guy was cooing. And giving him... What? Setting the laptop aside, Winter reluctantly accepted the bag and pulled out the mass of white tissue paper, opening it to find a… Stuffed bear? With a mask? And a gun?

_Okay, now that is just all kind of fucked up._

And, a little blue jacket?

_Oh my god—_

Horrified Winter regarded Loki with eyes wide and a hot flush he could feel rising all the way up to his hairline.

“It’s a Bucky Bear. I’d come across a mention of them, and had Lewis track one down for you.” He cocked his head considering the toy a moment before adding, “Adorable, is it not?”

_If you kill him and burn this place to the ground, no one will ever know this happened._

And, okay. He shouldn’t honestly be considering the pros and cons of that course of action. But, he really, really was.

Using his left hand, so his flesh hand didn’t have to touch the abomination in golden tan fur he plucked it free of its wrappings and held it, by its ear at arm’s length. Growling he demanded, “What sick fuck thought this up? And why the hell are you giving it to me?”

Despite his expression of concern, mischief danced in Loki’s eyes. “As I understand it, this toy is based on a graphic saga popular with younglings and adults of stunted mental capacity. As for why I am gifting it to you, since—”

Winter shook the bear threateningly. “Don’t you say it.”

“Very well. Since… Captain Rogers has problems remaining calm; I thought you might keep it and give it to him as soothing mechanism when he becomes upset.

Winter’s glare should have ignited stone, “And you honestly think this will help? To give him a stuffed animal to cuddle. A grown assed man?”

“Well, they are supposed to be soothing are they not?” Loki waved a hand with airy unconcern, as if he did not have a master class assassin with numerous weapons at hand glaring at him.

_If you want to wipe that smug little smile of his off his face, you might want to put down the bear and pull out a knife._

“However, since the good Captain has deep seated issues, and his distress causes you actual pain, I have laid a small calming spell upon the creature that will be triggered every time Captain Rogers squeezes it.”

Winter had experienced some strange shit in the decades he spent with the Russians and Hydra, but he could honestly say at the rate he was going, Loki was probably going to surpass them in overall size and scope of weirdness, by maybe noon Tuesday.

“Uh-huh. And you couldn't have laid this spell on a fancy rock or a key ring fob or something? It had to be a damn stuffed bear?” He started to wave his hand for emphasis, before realizing that it; A. Looked stupid what with the fucking bear dangling by one ear, and B. No matter how stupid it was, he felt bad for the poor bear since it wasn’t like this whole hug-a-spell thing was his idea.

_You know, he heals fast, you could just shiv him._

Tempting, but no.

“Well, of course,” Loki continued as if unaware that Winter had even briefly consider stabbing him. “But where would be the fun with that.”

On the other hand, it _would_ make him feel a lot better. However, the Boss had gone out of his way to try and help Winter solve the whole ‘not hurting Rogers’ problem. Even if the bastard was doing it in his usual, the-most-annoying-solution-imaginable, way.  Still, the entertainment value of Winter actually handing a damn stuffed animal—

_Teddy Bear._

\--Fine, handing a damn Teddy Bear to Captain Sad Sack, and better, convincing him to hug it…

Okay, so being a grown man carrying around a stuffed bear was bad, even if it was going to be hidden most of the time in one of his magic belt pouches. But Winter would be lying if he wasn't looking forward to seeing the expression on Rogers face, the first time he handed it to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky Bear? Once Winter!Loki learned of his existence, he badgered me incessantly.


	12. Chapter 12 - Cometh the Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honestly? Winter would be perfectly happy if nobody ever visited them. Or 'Things that make a Body Guard's job hard for $100.00 Alex'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the wonderful [EmuSam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EmuSam/pseuds/EmuSam) who I have not yet gotten the next chapter sent to because I am a slug. And had company this weekend. Whoooo, busy social life indeed.

**Cometh the Thunder**  

Knowing who was expected, but glancing at the outside security feed anyhow, Winter was doubly ready with his best ‘Oh-fuck-it’s-you-face’ as he opened the suite’s door.

Ignoring him like he always did, Stark swanned into the entryway and was halfway through the reception room before Winter could secure the door and catch up to him.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Stark growled, trying to shrug off the hand grasping his upper arm and more importantly, impeding his progress towards the Bosses’ office.

Winter’s huff was audible on purpose. Stark could puff up as much as he wanted to, but without his robot suit it was like having a toddler stamp their foot at you. Even with the suit? He didn’t impress anyone, or at least he didn’t impress Winter. After all, he had a rifle that was rated to take down a pocket dreadnought, Stark’s tin can would be no problem for it. Something that Stark should worry about, since Winter really, really didn’t like how he always tried to monopolize the boss's attention.

Still, he had asked a question, and Winter had been requested to make nice… Keeping his expression ‘I-may-be-thinking-of-killing-you’ blank, he pulled out one of his cards and, knowing that Stark wouldn’t take things off of people willingly, slid his hand down to Stark’s own hand. He tucked one of his cards into it, before folding it’s fingers closed.

“Hey! No touching without at least buying me dinner first!” Glaring, Stark snatched his hand back, and it appeared for a moment that he was going to toss what he’d been given to the floor, but then curiosity, and possibly even a wish to continue breathing stopped him. “A business card? Cute.”

At first glance, it did indeed look like a normal business card, Name, email address, phone number, the usual stuff, however…

“Vargr Fimbulvetr, The Winter Wolf, Chief Minion to the Norse God of Chaos.” Stark read, before peering over the tops of his ugly sunglasses. “You were just waiting to hand this to me weren’t you?”

Upon getting no response other than Winter’s patented blank Stare, Stark returned to his examination of the heavy linen card, flipping it over and taking in the heavily embossed gold wolf logo, that perfectly matched the one on Winter’s arm with a lifted brow. “The Lewis chick right? Between you being… well, you. And her only putting my call through every fifth time, and then only if I give her a five minute synopsis of the reason I want to talk with his Nibs, you guys are killing me.”

Winter made sure his incisors showed when he grinned.  

“I know, funny huh. You know what else is funny? All the prep work Steve is putting into your next playdate. And being the nice guy that I am, I got him a private box for the Dodgers-Cubs playoff, all three games.”

_Holy shit, that’s great!_

No! Not great. Baseball is never great; it’s like watching blood dry.

_Blood? Honestly. But Stevie loves baseball, and in a private box? And that close to the action? We’ll have a swell time._

He had intended to inform Old Bucky that there was no ‘action’ in baseball, at least not that he had seen during his brief investigation of the sport, when Stark totally derailed his thoughts with a saucy wink. “You might wanna write that down, you wouldn’t want to _hurt_ Steve feelings by forgetting to show up.”

_Ewww._

Okay… So we can agree that as bad as those winks are when Stark is aiming them at the Boss, they are beyond disturbing when he shoots one our way.

_Hell yes._

_Ummm, note?_

Reaching up into a concealed, repurposed knife sheath Winter pulled out his stylus and rather than open it with it’s tablet function, he decided to use it in projection mode. Stark jumping back in alarm, before he realized that Winter wasn’t pulling out a knife to gut him for his part in the baseball outing, or just for general aggravation of him being a short, smarmy pain in the ass. And okay, that  was more than amusing. Grinning darkly, Winter activated the viewing area to one of its larger sizes before tapping on the note pad function. Stark’ eyes went wide.

“Wait. What is that? What the hell? Did you just activate one of my holograms? You couldn’t have because we aren’t at my house. And I know this piss poor excuse for a wanna-be ritzy hotel doesn’t have the tech for holograms. So what…”

Stark resembled an annoying small dog, the breed of which Barnes couldn’t immediately recall to mind.

_Schnauzer?_

Who knows?

Yet another thing he’d have to research later. Suppressing a sigh, Winter noted the date of the baseball game in his calendar, made a note to check how many days the series lasted and lastly reminded himself to not only to figure out what breed of dogs he’d been thinking of, but to also run through various dog breeds looking for all the tiny, yapping dogs that _someone_ very much resembled.

Speaking of Stark, while stopping well outside of normal striking distance, he had come as close to Winter as he’d dared, trying to examine the stylus and seemingly independent projection. Okay. Not entirely stupid, but not a genius by any means, since normal striking distance was not something that could be applied to Barnes’ reach. You’d think a smart guy would realize that. He stood transfixed, bright, beady eyes on the shimmering notepad, then started and blinked a few times when Winter smirked and deactivated the thing. He tucked his stylus away,  snapping the strap across the sheath to keep it secure. Not that he was worried about Pint Size’s ability to pick his pocket unnoticed.

“No! Bring it back. How does it work? Where did you get that? Is that some of Snape’s bibbity bobbity boo? Or is it Space Viking Tech?”

“Do you ever quit talking?”

“No. I’m very annoying that way. Now make with the answers RoboCop.”

Robo— No, he wasn’t adding anything else to the list. Besides, it was most likely just another one of Stark's lame attempts to twist some cultural entertainment of a brain-cell-destroying nature into a derogatory nickname.

“Bring it back.”

“No.”

“Look. Mister Roboto. Bring it back; I only want to look at it.”

“No.”

Stark puffed up like a rooster. “Don’t make me put on the suit and take it, because enhanced cyborg assassin or not, the suit can do it.”

Barnes could feel the corners of his mouth curl up as he surreptitiously tapped the tiny rune tattooed on his wrist. Stark’s amazement at his stylus being able to turn into a holographic tablet, and though he didn’t know it, one that was internet capable on earth as well as the Asgardian network, was nothing compared to the jerk’s astonishment when the Winter Wolf armor obligingly appeared out of nowhere and started crawling up his limbs, totally shifting, and obscuring his stylus location.

But, Winter decided not to activate the helmet, because why waste a grin. He did throw Stark a wink of his own. “Suit up, asshole.”

“No! No! I hate fricking magic!” Stark stomped his tiny child feet a few times, practically wailing, “Loki! This shit’s not right. He’s not even a Space Viking!”

  
OoooO

If there was anything Winter was thankful for right now, it was the fact that Lewis’ hotel room was adjacent to the one being shared by the junior clerk and lone guard left behind by Asgard’s head Lawgiver, or whatever the hell Ulf actually was. That meant that those three could dive into the crowd of people leaving today’s hearing, activate their disguise charms, and head for home without Winter having to worry about the Boss trying to send him as escort for the dizzy dame. On the other hand, he certainly wasn’t thankful that the Boss was planning to spend several hours with Stark going over some income projections—

_Or so he claims._

What of it? I don’t really care what they’re going to do—

_Pffft~_

Old Bucky was about as big a fan of the Boss, as Winter was of Stark.

Who was the first thing they saw as the elevator door slid open. And right behind him was Rogers? Why? Hadn’t this day sucked enough?

“Lokes! I watched the whole thing, you know you’re pretty hot when you’re being all masterful, instead of acting all psycho crazy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Loki retorted, flicking a lazy smile Stark’s way. “I’m pretty hot when I am all crazy psycho. Hotter even.”

“Yeah, okay. You got me there, you really are,” Tony admitted with a wry smile.

Winter doesn’t huff. Not really, but he hates when the boss and Stark start circling around each other like this. Loki raises an inquiring brow at his obvious irritation.

“I just thought you’d have better taste, that’s all.”

“Nothing happens. Stark knows if he annoys me by getting too fresh, I’ll put him to sleep.” Using a finger, he lifted Stark’s chin, looking considering at the short thorn in Winter’s side. “In fact I suspect that he only does it to get a solid, reliable night’s sleep.”

Stark winked, “Don’t sell yourself short sweet cheeks. I also love the vivid dreams of what could have been that I always seem to have.”

Reminding Winter of nothing so much as someone lavishing affection on an overly rambunctious puppy, Loki smiled down at the annoying bastard.

“What, I wonder, would you do if ever I took you up on your many offers of a carnal nature Stark?

“Honestly? I figure it would be a tossup between absolute raw terror or the most earth shattering sex I’ve ever had. Or both even.” Stark put a hand on the small of Loki’s back and started guiding him up the stairs, presumably towards the small office he had up there. “You two have fun, I ordered Thai, it should be here in an hour or so.”

Rolling his eyes. Winter took a moment to contemplate the many long, drawn out ways that a person could be killed, before plastering a slightly sickly smile on his face and turning to face whatever hell was in store for him that evening.

OoooO

Shoving a small stack of chips forward, Winter called. While his poker face was very good, he wasn’t much of a card player, and had already lost half his bag of M&M’s. Of course it didn’t help that he’d only learned--

_Re-learned_

\--the game because playing Poker and Gin Rummy were activities Rogers enjoyed that didn’t involve baseball or running shoes. So, while he might change his mind someday, right now, he was playing a game he didn’t care for in the first place, while being repeatedly distracted by memory fragments as Rogers absentmindedly reminisced about the olden days. Worse were the covertly searching looks after each slip-up. Rogers wasn’t a bad guy, but Jesus Christ on a Pogo stick, the constant hopeful expressions just fucking wore you down. So, if you had asked him moments earlier, Winter would have said he’d have welcomed any interruption of what Stark had dubbed, the ‘Brooklyn Boys' Playdate’.

However on further reflection, given the chance to choose, he would much rather spend time with Steve playing even tiddlywinks than have to go flying up the stairs because the asshole with the hammer had returned accompanied by lighting, and sideways blowing gusts of rain hard enough to rattle even Stark’s reinforced windows.      

“Loki!” Thor, roared as Stark yelled in the back ground about his terrace doors being damaged beyond repair.

“I really don’t understand what all the fuss is about.”

“You tricked me!”

“Well, yes. But in my defense, it isn’t like that’s hard to do, Thor.”

With Rogers right behind him, and armor forming around him, Winter leapt up the last few step, pistol in one hand targeting Thor’s temple, a throwing knife in the other.

Loki waved him into standby mode, and because he had a fucking death wish crowded the big, heavily breathing, vein pulsing, completely unhappy, hammer clenching blond. And Winter could honestly say the only one cheerful about this was Old Bucky who was happily looking forward to Loki getting a hammer to the face. He really did need to pipe down, all that chortling was distracting.

“Oh, no, you can’t pin that on me. He fell into an Odin Sleep. I merely made sure he didn’t wake up until he was good and rested.”

Ignoring Thor’s growling, huffing, and the lighting strikes far too close to the tower for Winter’s comfort, Loki continued, “His queen had just died, his realm had been attacked, and his son,” he poked Thor hard enough in the chest that he actually swayed backwards a bit, “along with said son’s feckless companions, had once again committed treason. It’s no wonder the man collapsed.”

Thor, got right up into Loki’s face and roared, “ **_You usurped the Throne!_ ** ”

Slipping the knife back in its sheath, Winter loosened the new gun he kept on his back. Blondie, might claim some sort of godhood, but if he thought he was going to mess with the boss, he had another think coming. Winter wasn’t stupid, he’d heard about the problems between the two not-brothers from that asshole Fandral while he’d been on Asgard. And he’d been laying for the bastard. Between Stark’s tech, and Loki’s magic, the bullets in his Necro2 might not kill the big blond, but they would sure slow his ass down long enough to bring that anti-Asgardian blade Loki had given him into play.

_Oooo. Or maybe break out the raygun?_

However it turned out that he didn’t need either gun or knife as Loki surged forward, pushing Thor back with hard thrusts to his chest.  

“How dare you accuse me of that? Who was it that left a tired grieving man to shoulder the burden of a lost wife, and broken realm, all by himself!”

“I didn’t want the throne!”

“You didn’t have to take it you moron,” Loki screamed, nose to nose with Thor, bright splotches of red on each cheek.  “You still could have stayed and helped. Odin was tired, he was grieving, and you. Just. Left him. What kind of a son does that! Norms know I hate the bastard, and I wouldn’t have done it!”

“No, you would just put a sleeping spell on him leaving him defenseless.”

“You know what Thor. You’re right. I did put a spell on him once he’d fallen. However, the moment I did, I went to work fixing what needed fixed, making allies for the upcoming fight.”

“You plunged the realms into chaos!”

“It’s called self-determination, Thor, and it was long past time for it to happen! Asgard needs allies, not vassals. And every Norn-cursed night, I sat beside Odin and explained to him what had been done, and why. Admittedly, his not being able to argue made it easier to get Asgard, and the realms to start making preparations. Since he who could see everything, apparently never looked at anything, and would have never believed me even if he had. But don’t you dare say my actions imperiled Asgard. I am the one who shouldered all the burden of rebuilding so that Odin could be fully rested for the upcoming battle.”

“But you should hav--”

“Why are you here?” Winter interrupted, asking what was to him the most important question. Something these two would apparently never get around to, what with them acting like roughhousing kids arguing over really was responsible for breaking mom’s lamp. “Shouldn’t you be helping your dad?”

“I have been sent with a message,” Thor said, shooting him a scowl. “Or rather, information.” He fished around for a moment, and then pulled a small crystal rod out of a pocket on the inside of his cape before positively thrusting it at Loki. Watching the whole process, Winter couldn’t help but wonder how it was that he’d been gifted with a dimension pocket, when the Crown Prince of Asgard apparently hadn’t.

“Fimbulvetr Ulf, you may be, but what makes you think you have the right to demand answers from me?” Thor said with a heavy scowl in Winter’s direction.

“He’s Loki's new boyfriend,” Stark chirped with maliciously fake helpfulness.

“Tony, stop,” Rogers demanded.

“Not his boyfriend, Stark,” Winter retorted, flipping Stark a quick bird.

“Yeah? Not buying it Robocop.”

“Loki! He is your sworn shield brother.”

“Oh don't you start with me Thor,” Loki shot back almost absently, his attention fully engaged in reading the small runes inscribed on the side of the rod. “I know all about you and Sif. Ymir’s balls, all of Asgard knows about the way you two carry on. And half of them have heard it, since Sif yowls like a cat in heat when you two go at it.”

“Way to go, Thor. There is nothing better than a vocal partner. But, carry? As in the present tense and not the distant past? Does Jane know?” Tony gleefully shrugged off the searing glare Thor tossed his way. “All, I am saying, is that you might dial back the grief while dealing with baby bro. His honey is a vindictive prick.”

“Not his honey, Stark,” Winter automatically replied in the flat tone he normally used with the billionaire. Deciding to rile the waters of Stark’s ongoing flirtation with his boss, he continued with a sly smirk, “Actually, his honey might be that really hot bartender who works weekdays at the Saint Regis. Who, I might add, doesn’t have to be a bazillionaire to get a date.” It was now Tony’s turn to flip him off. Thor, looking even more scandalized, whispered something about ‘consorting with tavern slatterns’, while Loki just rubbed two fingers on his left temple.

“Will you all, just stop worrying about my personal affairs?”

Stark, predictably, ignored this request. “Lo! I understand I have to share your affection with Murder-bot1917, but don’t tell me you’re stepping out on us with a bartender. Hell, at least Wolfie here could have an extremely lucrative career as a contract killer.”

Suppressing the thought of how high the bidding would go if he advertised an offer to take Stark out, Winter opened up his dimension pocket, pulled out his sylus, and helpfully handed it to Loki.

“Suck up,” Stark mouthed, as Loki accepted the device with a fond smile, slipping the thin rod into it until the screen flashed. He then removed the rod, and twisted his fingers until it vanished into storage with a small lick of green flame.

“You still could have told me,” Thor muttered as Loki flicked rapid fingers across the slate.

“Told you what Thor?” Loki asked disinterestedly, not looking up from the solid block of text he was reading. “That everything was in ruins? You walked past plenty of destruction while leaving, so I fail to see how you not realizing it was my fault. You are over twelve hundred years old, exactly how long do you expect to be spoon fed?”

“I was also grieving, for Mother, _and you_.”

“And? I spent days lying broken in the dust, before anyone even spared a thought for what had become of me, and when they did, it wasn’t even you,” Loki retorted, tapping a few controls before flicking the now earth-readable files over towards one of the displays Stark had open.

If Loki had a tell about things which really bothered him, Winter had observed, it was his habit of petulant and pissy muttering.

“If anyone had tried to recover my body for a decent funeral, they wouldn’t have needed to grieve for me. Or maybe, before they decided I was beyond redemption, and muzzled me like a damn dog, they might have considered that armies and space fleets are not handed out like party favors to outsiders. Or maybe they would not accuse me of usurpation when I worked like a thrall from morning ‘til night getting Asgard back on her feet and prepared for war.”  

“But not, I think, for Asgard’s sake, but rather for your own selfish reasons.”

“Well yes. Not wanting to experience eternal torture is a pretty good motivator. But I could have just left you know, I could have headed to another realm.” He smiled nastily at Thor, “Just like you did.”

“I can’t believe Fandral didn’t say anything to me.”

“How could he? Your father, who is, I might point out, in the habit of taking long naps at inconvenient times, was out of the picture. You had left; of your own free will, abandoning Asgard in her hour of need. The place was in chaos, so he declined to cause trouble for the only one picking up the pieces. Not really something to get angry about, Thor. Besides, if anyone would know how incompetent you are at anything besides smashing things, it would be your own shield brother. And I suppose the others who knew, Heimdall, Grandsire Njord, and Uncle Frey, most of the counc --”

With a mighty roar Thor launched himself at Loki. Outside thunder boomed so close the whole tower shook.

Winter snagged  the tablet, which had transformed back into stylus form, and rolled over in his direction, while Stark rocked back wide eyed.

“Damn. Well we always knew that Thor had a temper. Not that I blame him, Loki can be a pretty passive aggressive asshole.”

“I see that.”

“You didn't know?” Stark asked, tearing his eyes away from the fight going on in front of them.

“Not really. He never raised his voice once in Asgard, that I know of... not even when I was ready to strangle those assholes on the dwarf delegation. And I wasn't even the one talking to them.”

“Really?”

“Nope a few dramatic sighs asking why this report or that was still not finished. That was about it.”

“Well he does do an excellent passive aggressive prissiness.”

“Stark, pop on one of your suits. You and Rogers can grab Thor, I'll get the boss.” After all, Winter was pretty sure he was the only one who could grab Loki without it escalating.

_Stark could._

I don’t want to hear it, so just shut up about what Stark can and can’t do with the boss.

_Not wanting to hear it doesn’t make it a lie._

Fuck off.

Not for the first time Winter regrets that a bullet to the brain seems to be the only way to get rid of his annoying commenter.

_Commenters, plural._

Yeah, but you are my main pain in the ass.

Much, much later, leaning against a wall while seated side by side because the entire living room had been reduced to scraps of fabric, metal, and fluff, Thor accepted one of the wet towels Winter had offered the brothers. “Father was not the least bit amused that you built an amphitheater and dedicated it to yourself. Or by your huge statue at its front gate.”

“Oh? Is he going to have it removed?”

“No. As much as the smirk on it irks him, he said that would cause too many questions. But he did like the sculpture of Mother you commissioned for the fountain park. And when he found out you sketched out the facade for the rebuilt Healers Hall, he said you had a good eye for civic improvements.”

“Ha.”

“But with so many people now wanting his aesthetic input on new projects, he said if you don’t figure out a way to let people know the designs were yours he is going to consider placing bird feeders around your amphitheater statue.”

Dropping the now bloody towel in his lap, Loki laughed as light-heartedly as Winter had ever heard. “Really? How many?”

“Lots.” Thor said with an answering chuckle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeling a bit beset by RL, comments would cheer me up, just saying.....


	13. Chapter 13 -Action at Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter and Stark get along like Nitro and Percussion caps, and Rogers asks the impossible. Or at least the extremely unlikely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, because I am a slug, I did not get this chapter to Emu Sam in time to be Beta'd. But, I did want to keep to my schedule, so I will replace it with the corrections once she returns it. Sorry!
> 
> !!!!!!!! SEE END NOTES FOR TRIGGER WARNING!!!!!!!!!!

**13 -Action at Last**

It was just his luck that Thunder Jerk had left this morning. And pretty much reinforced Winter’s private fears concerning that old saying, be careful what you wish for. For as much as he had wished he didn’t have to cope with the insane mood swings of Loki and his brother, loving siblings one moment, tearing up the place, **_and_** each other the next. He equally did not want to try to figure out some way to shadow Loki as he took to the field in Thor’s place, as that might or more likely would cause Rogers distress with him worrying about his old pal _Bucky._ Sadly, protecting the source of his current meal ticket, and provider of immunity from prosecution without distressing Rogers was not going to be easy. Hell, just thinking about it was pissing him off in ways that not even the satisfaction of surveying his growing personal arsenal could alleviate.  

Pulling down his much prized, heavily modified, Barrett M82 sniper rifle, which had sadly not entirely escaped the gold bling fetish Loki had, Winter reflected bitterly that his life fucking sucked somedays.

_Most days._

Well yes.

_But not near as bad as it used to._

Very true. And it really wasn’t his current life that sucked, but rather his luck, or lack thereof. However, at the end of the day, that was small consolation. Heaving a heavy sigh, Winter checked that his scope lens were clean before replacing their protective caps.    

OoooO

Since he was already in a bad mood, sideslipping, skywalking, or whatever the hell Pretty Boy was calling it today, was never going to be Winter's prefered form of translocation. Even if it was funny the way everyone jumped every time they arrived at Stark Tower that way. Stark was the worst at hiding it, and the most cranky about it. Well, and everything else actually.

“Oh, goodie. Replacement God 2.0 hath arrived, and he bringeth an attending MuderBot accessory, gilded in gold. Color us not surprised.” Clomping over, his stupid suit making a horrible racket, he looked for a moment like he was going to say something smart to Loki, but apparently deciding this was a bad idea he instead turned his attention to Winter, standing where he’d landed, beside Loki. “Well, BuckMeister, a bit of a change for you, fighting on the side of the more or less righteous. You ready for that?”

Winter, decided to let the use of the Bucky-Name pass, and instead tucked his thumbs in his belt, leaned into Stark’s personal space fixing impossibly wide eyes on startled engineer, before growling, "Ready to steal some _~_ ** _souls_** _~_ **and ruinsomeGodDAMNLIIIVES!"***

All the Avengers froze for a brief moment. Predictably, Stark was the first to recover.

“So, not completely then?” Stark said a little wild eyed. Leaning back as far as he could without actually moving, he glanced over at Loki, who was attempting to smother a snort of laughter. “Seriously Lokes, you need to keep him away from YouTube. And for that matter, Lewis.”

Loki, grinned, “Whatever for? It sounds like an excellent way to deal with one's enemies.”

Having apparently made what ever point he’d been attempting by standing firm, Stark moved back a step. “It would, to you maybe. But to me, and anyone else even marginally sane? Gotta say, it sounds just a bit unhinged. Or a lot even.” Stark turned his attention back towards Winter, who was pardonably pleased with the reaction he’d received. “My dude, you need to mellow out. Maybe find yourself a girl and do the deed for a couple of hours. Or a guy, I don’t judge, and get fucked until all that tension--”

Winter felt something snap.

_What!? Hey! No! Stark’s just joking!_

Oh. Hell no. He was in a new place. This was his new life. And while it may not be a completely ideal life, he was damned if he was going to let anyone even joke that he wanted to be fucked. Or had ever wanted to be fucked. According to certain memory flashes, he may, at one time have had… _tendencies_. But he’d never acted on them. Winter sure as shit didn’t think very highly of Old Bucky’s intelligence, but even he’d had enough sense to stick with women so as not to bring down the wrath of society or the church down upon his head. As for what Soldat had endured with the Russians and Hydra, those were definitely not memories Winter cared to revisit. Ever. Or wanted anyone to speculate on. And definitely not fucking joke about.

Winter’s front kick to Stark’s chest was hard enough that armored or not, the engineer staggered back several feet. Winter evaded Loki attempt to block him with a few quick hand movements, a hard shove, and a terse, “Get outta the way Pretty Boy.” A hop jump closed the distance between him and Stark, allowing him to twist left into a high side kick, his right boot aiming for the engineer’s unhelmeted head.  

“What the f--” Tony screamed over the sound of stressed servo motors, leaning back, he triggered his palm repulsors to get him out of the way of the blow.

“Whoa! Buck, no!,” Rogers exclaimed, leaping forward he snagged Winter’s right arm, planted himself like a god damned tree and used Winter’s own momentum to spin them away from the tin can wearing asshole. Aborting a lock and twist move that would have broken Rogers’ neck if he’d completed it, Winter almost totally suppressed a howl of frustration. The newly released Rogers, shot him a surprised look at the noise that _had_ escaped him, but wasted no time in sliding behind him and trapping Winter’s arms with his own. Numerous evasive moves were instantly considered, and reluctantly discarded as being too harmful to fucking _Stevie,_ and therefore a mission violation.

Loki, had taken up a protective stance between them and Stark.

_Stop! You’re going to get us in trouble._

“All of you, cease this nonsense at once.” Loki’s voice has more than a bit snap in it, but he sounds more resigned than actually angry.

“What the fuck Barnes,” a now helmeted Stark huffed breathlessly, trying to edge around Loki so he could have a clear shot with his hand repulsors.

Struggling to get free without violating his god damned mission, he spat, “My name’s Winter, you pigmy bastard.”

There was the whine of machinery as various missile ports opened up on the shoulders of the Iron Man Armor. Loki, who had turned back towards them when Winter spoke, glanced over his shoulder, immediately snapping, “Stark, I will make you rue the hour of your conception if you don’t put those away immediately.”

His arms and torso still confined by Rogers, Winter did manage to shift enough to pull a small pistols out of his side holster. “Don’t even think about it Arrow Boy,” he growled. While no one moved to stop the bastard,  they were now at least aware that Barton was targeting the boss. Which wasn’t going to end well.

“Clint!”

“Steve!”

And there was his chance.

“Hey!” A distracted Rogers yelped, as Winter flexed his arms out hard, dropped straight down and then threw himself at the archer. Not forgetting that Barton and Romanoff worked as a team, he targeted her for the moment it took him to take Barton out with a low dive, catching the blow Barton aimed at his head with his metal hand, he latched onto the bow ripping it away and hurling it at Romanoff as a distraction. Wrapping his now free arm around Barton’s throat, he twisted them until he could use the archer as a shield. Pistol pressed hard against Barton’s temple. “You don’t aim at the boss asshole,” he hissed in the archer’s ear.

“If anyone takes any damage during this ridiculous altercation, it had better not be the my Midgardian. Enhanced healing or not, I am not dealing with him being injured.” While Loki’s tone was only mildly admonishing, his narrow eyed glare was almost a physical force,

“Yeah, yeah. Okay. We got it. Nobody hurt Loki’s boy toy. OWWwwww!”

Flying a dozen feet from the force of the green blast striking his side, Stark slammed his shoulder into the wall yelling, “What was that for?!

“Mind your tongue Stark, or the next time I’ll send you _through_ the wall. Barton, control yourself. Winter, please release Agent Barton.”

No fucking problem there.

“Without tossing him across the room, if you would.”

_Busted._

Winter contented himself with a hard shove, and since it wasn’t hard enough that the bastard fell, felt that he had more than fulfilled the boss’s request. Apparently, Loki did too, since he turned his attention towards the asshole with arrows. “Agent Barton, while your actions to protect your team mate, might, under a certain light, seem laudable, I do caution you against threatening me with bodily harm, my Vargr might… Damage you. Possibly even unintentionally.”

Or not, Winter huffed internally as he pulled out his best dead-eyed stare and aimed it at the two Shield agents.  

Romanoff handed Barton’s bow back to him. “Come on Clint, let’s get the Quinjet ready to roll.” Not waiting for an answer, or more likely an argument, she grabbed his sleeve and towed him towards the doors leading out to the landing pad.

Rogers, who had gone over, ostensibly to assist Stark in getting up, was busily scolding him in harsh whisper, “Tony! What were you thinking? In our day-- In Bucky’s day, you just didn't say stuff  like that to a guy. Queers would be beaten to smear on the ground and then the police would arrest them, not the mugs punching and kicking them.”

“Steve, what did we tell you about that word.”

“I know, Tony, I know. But that is what was shouted while they were beating people. You just don’t insinuate that someone--” Glancing off to the side, Rogers scrubbed his other hand across the back of his neck, as his voice dropped still lower, “Receives.”

Winter had excellent peripheral, thanks to years of training and exercising it, so while he appeared to be watching Loki closely, he saw both Rogers’ embarrassment, as well as the exasperated expression that had washed over Stark’s face.

“Okay, okay.” Stark said as he pulled away from Rogers. Glancing over at Winter, his expression changed to one of discomfiture. “Look, Winter, I am sorry. Honestly, it was just a joke. And okay, arguably not a funny one.” Stark clomped over and picked up one of his ever present tablets lying on a nearby table. “Friday, a little background info here for our hom--” He stopped himself with a grimace, waved a vaguely apologetic hand in Loki and Winter’s direction, and then continued with, “For our possibly not up to date on the advances in societal norms associate here.  

After a moment, the tablet chimed, and Stark handed it to Winter, who with a quick glance at the boss, accepted it, begrudgingly.

What the hell, we’re getting ready to go on a mission, how does he figure I have time to read this right now?

 _Stark did_ **_give_ ** _it to you._

And so maybe Old Bucky’s tone was sly, that didn’t necessarily make him wrong. Winter grinned to himself as he put the newly acquired tablet into one of his magic pouches.

“Yes. Well. By all means. Keep the tablet,” Stark huffed sarcastically.

“Tony, what difference does it make?” Banner asked the far side of the room, where he had been quietly watching them from.

“Geeze, Bruce, That was a cutting edge tablet, you act like they grow on trees.”

“Around Here? They certainly seem too.”

Rogers who looked like he was suffering a massive headache, ignored the rest of their back and forth and  chivied them all out to the waiting jet.

OoooO

“I’m just saying, you could do better than a Mixologist, or, even a brain damaged former zombie assassin. There is another devastating good looking brunet close at hand. The bartender is a brunet right?” Loki inclined his head in agreement, “Anyhow, close at hand, dark haired, devestatelying hansome, who has the added bonus of being insanely wealthy, and not smelling of gin or gun oil.”

Winter huffed, while Loki merely raised a brow. “Stark, if you wish to apply to be my paramour, you will have to submit an application clearly listing your skills.”

“Not a problem, Jarvis will send it to you immediately.

“Additionally, I would require from a _reputable_ healer, a sworn statement attesting to your being disease free. You do, after all, have a reputation.”

Stark just gave what he obviously thought was a charming smile. It wasn’t. Then Stark decided not to take off and do a few showy loops around his ugly building, but rather trailed after them into the jet.

They had been in the air for about fifteen minutes, and had just finished being briefed on some jack-off named Doom and the splinter group he was using as a distraction to terrorize a military defence research facility in Buffalo, New York, when Stark came, and sat across from them. “So. Your Majesty, since today is shot appointment wise, any way I could convince you to attend a private meeting if this doesn’t run too late? Like, just you, me and my… reputation?”

“He’s moving up.” Winter muttered as the boss looked Stark up and down, apparently giving serious consideration to his request.

Glancing over, Loki laughed delightedly. “No? Is he?” Casting an amused look at Stark, before turning his gaze back on Winter, he asked. “Has Stark broke the top twenty yet?”

“Heh. The creep only thinks he’s that important.”

“Not that this isn’t all fascinating, but what the hell are you two going on about? And for the record, Roboduff, I am not a creep.”

Cute. Stark thought that Winter was going to bandy words with him. That was not fucking likely. Hell, he had a hard enough time when he had to explain something to the Chaos God, and Winter really liked him. Unlike Stark, who in addition to being a creep, had a goofy looking growth on his face. Honestly, what was up with that beard-’stash-goatee thing of his. A guy who wants to sport facial hair should make up his mind what kind he wants. Not wear a bastard version of three different things.

“Come on, inquiring minds want to know.”

“Winter has a list of thing he hates. You apparently are working your way up it. But I wouldn’t worry too much. If he has to kill you, I have requested he do so as painlessly as possible.”

“Landing in less than three minutes people, grab your gear,” Natasha called back.

“Awww, Lokes, I knew I had a special place in your heart. So, killer bot who is already pissed at me, working for a god with no compunction about killing people, has me on a hit list of some sort. Good to know.” Stark shrugged, then cast a nonchalant glance Winter’s way before leaning way into Loki’s personal space. “I think I’ll take my chances.”

“Men will die tonight.” Winter told him. 

Shrugging, the annoying bastard tapped Loki’s knee lightly, settling back in his seat. “Doubtful, it’s not even noon yet, and Doom is more a hit and run villain. You know Lokes, you really need to monitor his YouTube viewing.” He shot a glance at Winter and continued, “Or maybe not. I’ve heard about his the ‘Mascara Gone Wild’ night in DC. He could probably use the pointers.”  

With the tiniest of smiles, Loki shook his head, “You know you’re on the edge, Stark.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I’m wearing the suit, and you seem to have Winter here on a pretty tight tether.”

What an asshole.

 _Assholes, as in both of them,_ old Bucky sniped back.

“He is a berserker, Stark. That is almost the classic definition of those who come suddenly unleashed.”

It was not any kind of coincidence that Winter unbuckled his flight harness at just that moment’ and stood not taking his eyes off of Stark as he settled his gear. Loki followed suit, placing a hand against Winter’s back and turning him towards the rear door.  

“Come,” Loki told him, “Let us go kill our enemies, you’ll enjoy that I know.”

Rogers, whose jaw had been set almost since the moment Stark elected to ride in the jet, couldn’t mask the pained expression that flashed across his face, as he begged, “Come on Loki, don’t say stuff like that to him.”

In the pocket of quiet caused by the jets engines suddenly being turned off, Winter’s low muttered reply of, “But it won’t be Stark, or Barton.” was unexpectedly audible. Not that he really cared.

"True, but with all the airborne robots swarming, perhaps you can use your new guns.”

“But not on Stark.”

“Nor Barton either,” Loki agreed regretfully. “Which is, I agree, a sad state of affairs.”

But still, getting to use the ray guns. Gotta love that, Winter consoled himself, heading out the door.

OoooO

And he did indeed get to use his ray guns, which did clear wide swaths of air space until the drones changed tactics and used a more dispersed, and not nearly as effective attack pattern. And while he couldn’t shoot Stark, he had waited until a few of the swarms got extremely close to the inventor before he fired. Not on purpose mind you.

_Oh, of course not._

I know, right. But that kind of stuff happened when you were lining up a shot.

_Shame you can’t do the same to Barton._

Which was true, but there wasn’t as much room for error with Barton, since he doesn’t wear a tin can. Still, in between taking pot-shots at Doom, and keeping them off the boss, and _Stevie-boy_ , he did manage shower Stark with close range shrapnel more than a few time.  This, not unexpectedly resulted in Stark cursing him for several moments.

“He’s doing it on purpose!”

“Of course not. I assure you, Winter is above petty revenge.” You could almost hear Loki’s smirk, “Sadly however, accidents do occasionally happen.”

Winter made sure his quiet chuckling at that statement was just audible to his communicator, and then went as requested to assist Rogers in clearing out some of Doom’s human henchmen.

Asking Winter, of all people to help, was possibly not _Stevie’s_ best idea, since he was so dead set (heh) on taking prisoners, for the sake of taking prisoners, and Winter most definitely was not. Keeping someone alive for intel was worth the extra risk. Otherwise, not so much. Besides, Loki told him that he could leave the taking of prisoners to the heroes, his job was to stay safe, and make sure than nobody was left alive to rise up behind him.

As he had known that even when he was Soldat, successful missions couldn’t be beat as a tension release.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *And yes, Winter is Channeling one of Darcy's favorite YouTubers. Do you know which one? (And if you don't, why?)
> 
> **************TRIGGER WARNING!!! Old time views on Homosexuality, and the violence visited against them**************


	14. Chapter 14 - Asgardian Ambassador by Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second jobs, bric-a-brack and magpies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so it technically still Wednesday.... for another 20 minutes in the US. 
> 
> You are only getting this now, rather than next week thanks to [EmuSam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EmuSam/pseuds/EmuSam) who turned this puppy around in 24 hours. ALL HAIL EMU SAM! 
> 
> (I have no clue what will happen next week, since I didn't even get to start on that chapter *leSigh*)
> 
> Okay, note on timeline. I know the MCU had to work fast before all their characters aged out of their spandex. However, I am pretty flipping sure that Thanos would not have given up an infinity stone to Loki merely to save five years or so. I am thinking the distances involved are multiple decades apart. I figure fifty - seventy years minimum.
> 
> *********** READ AND HEED THE TRIGGER WARNING IN THE END NOTES ****************

**Chapter 14 - Asgardian Ambassador by Day**

Apparently, superheroes liked to blow off post battle adrenaline after a successful mission by having a celebratory meal and acting like idiots. Hence, threatening to shoot each other for the last shrimp eggroll. That was a totally stupid thing to do, since Loki snagged it for himself while they were arguing.

_Stark’s courier, that Emlynn Tormo who Steve introduced us to, made sure all the containers were marked. That was nice of her._

It was. Winter had eaten Chinese many times in the past, but mainly someone just shoved a carton in his hands and told him to eat. It was nice to know what each dish was called, even if some of them were egregiously misnamed in his opinion. Buddha's Delight was anything but. Who the hell thought steamed vegetables without sauce, mixed with cubes of decomposing sponge was a good idea?

_She said it was tofu._

Well, _I_ say it was crap.

OoooO

From what Winter had overheard, very few officials of any government that wasn’t Nordic considered the Prince of Asgard easily approachable. Particularly not with the Lewis doll gatekeeping for him. The general consensus seemed to be that when Loki was not at an actual UN meeting or World conference, he wasted his time enjoying the best restaurants and plays that earth had to offer. It was time that he could be spending letting them offer him some sweetheart deal to provide particular protection or advanced technology exclusively for their country. Of course the general consensus was, as Winter knew, dead wrong. In actual fact, Loki’s clerk and guard, suitably ‘glamoured’ as Loki and Winter, conspicuously enjoyed themselves for the sole purpose of having their pictures surreptitiously taken by covert agencies, and the nosy members of the general population. Not that Winter begrudged them their fancy meals or entertainment.

_Please, you sulk like a five year old every time you have to study the play programs and story outlines in case someone asks you about them. And that time they brought back that whole box of Strawberry Tarts with Elderberry Flower jello stuff from that Daniel Restaurant? You almost threw a walleyed fit._

And? While they are out there eating at five star restaurants, providing the perfect alibi for Loki’s secret little side project of helping ‘Midgard Play Nicely’, I am generally wearing forty pounds of generic tac gear, and carrying weapons I wouldn’t normally spit on, let alone use. Besides, _I_ wanted to see Hamilton.

Loki had assured the UN that, barring any unlikely, but not altogether impossible mishap, like a new wormhole being discovered, or Thanos getting his hands on another master mage and dawn of creation artifact, any possible invasion was generations away. They used that information to keep the civilians from panicking or opposing all the multinational projects the UN was spearheading to get Earth ready _now;_ Space Defense systems didn’t build themselves after all. Unfortunately, the assurances that comforted civilian population also contributed to a ‘no need to rush it’ attitude among Earth politicians in getting rogue countries to fall in line, and clean up their own internal messes.

So while the UN and their host country unknowingly spent time protecting fake Loki and Winter as they ate dry-aged beef rib-eye at three star Michelin restaurants, he was stuck in the hotel eating whatever Lewis had picked up on her way back from the office that evening.

_You didn’t even know what a Michelin star was._

Doesn’t matter, Brand almost had a religious experience describing it during the debrief. What was I doing that night? Oh yeah, while Loki read reports that Lewis had spent the day gathering on future trouble spots, _I_ was planning another damn clean up mission.

Generally Loki picked the not-playing-nice targets, while Winter planned various ways that missions could be accomplished without **_any_** magic that could be traced back to the Asgard. But not always; in fact Winter had come up with their warm-up mission. Gerald ‘Call me Jerry’ Stern, a Hydra asshole who had recently made the news again by managing to not only get a mistrial, but was also out on bail. House arrest, admittedly, but still pretty free to cause trouble.  

“Tell me why this one?” Loki asked, brows knit as he read the briefing Winter handed him.

“I heard Pierce talking to him on the phone and about him to others.”

“Pierce? The man who chose your more recent handlers?”

“Yeah. Stern was deep in, but they mostly kept it off the records. If he beats these charges, he might run for office again, pulling the political persecution angle, but even if he doesn’t, he knows the skeletons in other political closets.”

It had taken Winter a few moments to explain to Loki what the phrase political skeletons meant in American politics, but once he had, Loki immediately saw how disruptive it would be if Stern targeted current politicians. Since world-wide alliances to root out corruption and terrorist groups were not something Hydra would be in favor of, Winter was pretty sure they would lean hard on any operative they still had, no matter how reduced in power, to stop such cooperation. And he was equally sure that Stern was aware of just how much Hydra would do for him, if he could help derail such alliances.

OoooO

Taking out Stern the old fashioned way without leaving a trace of magic, superheroes, or world class assassins, meant they were currently perched on a hillside in upstate Pennsylvania waiting for Stern’s lawyers to leave. While it was more than a little annoying to have to hunker down in the damp undergrowth, at least with Stern’s wife serving him with divorce papers the moment he got out of prison, they didn’t have to work around the guy’s family.

_Still pretty boring._

And soggy.

The disgusting nature of rotten leaf mold could not really be conveyed with mere words. Of course, many words, muttered under their breath, were exchanged at the hair-snagging briars that were positively everywhere. At any rate, they spent a lot of time watching and listening as the guy bitched about his legal woes: in addition to his trying to avoid being convicted of being a traitor, his divorce was not going to go smoothly as his soon to be ex-wife was apparently taking him to the cleaners. So there were quite a few chances to talk while Stern’s lawyers handed him mountains of paperwork to read and sign.

Having already covered what thrilling new things Old Bucky had dredged up for him to remember about Brooklyn, and speculating on how deep Darcy Lewis’ death wish ran, Winter decided to go for something that he’d wondered about for a while, “So, can I ask what’s up with the horns on your armor?”

Taking his eyes away from the high powered binoculars he was watching Stern and the lawyer with, Loki turned to him with a nasty little smirk.

“I think they were supposed to be a hidden joke at my ancestry. Various types of horns, quite different from these, are ceremoniously worn by high ranking Jotnar; their homeland is where I was stolen from. Naturally, they couldn’t give anything resembling those, that would have given away the joke.” He waved a hand towards his head, where the horns would have been if he’d been in his own armor, rather than an Earth sourced swat outfit. “Hence the Midgardian mountain goat horns.”

“So, why keep wearing them?”  
   
“Why not. To change my helm would be to admit they won.” Loki’s bitter smile sharpened. “Besides, as it turns out their choice was more prophetic than slyly cruel. Mountain goats are not only extremely aggressive, even toward their own kind, but they go where others not only fear to tread, but are unable to.  
   
Dangerous harmonics built up in Loki’s voice to the point where Bucky actually had to suppress a reaction to the shiver that ran down his spine. It appeared that thousand-plus-year-old gods were not only easy on the eyes, but they honed their grudges razor sharp. Loki continued, “As they learned the hard way, mountain goats, not unlike myself, don’t need a path because they make their own.”

_Whoa. Don’t let Steve piss him off._

That's all you're concerned about? Not for the first time Winter thought that Old Bucky’s total lack of concern for the well-being of anyone but his _Stevie_ was what got them into this mess in the first place.   

The sound of someone thumping papers into a square broke the silence and alerted them that Stern was done reading. Peering back through his binoculars, Loki said with satisfaction, “Ah, it appears they have finished.”

Twenty-seven minutes later they packed up their binoculars and directional listening gear, and with caps pulled low, and bandannas pulled high, they slipped out of the woods to disable Stern’s home security system. Wearing thrift store gear from head to toe, Loki drifted up the stairs to set up the botched robbery scene while he slipped up to the ground floor library to take care of Stern. Easing into the library where Stern was fixing himself a drink he coughed, almost laughing as Stern stiffened in surprise and allowed his tumbler to slip through nerveless fingers. Dripping alcohol from the tumbler hitting the desk and splashing him, Stern spun, his eyes immediately locking onto the pistol in Winter’s hand.

It deeply grated on Winter’s nerves that he couldn’t take a clean head or chest shot, but low life, bumbling robbers generally didn’t shoot that good. Sighing, he aimed for the femoral artery.

OoooO

 

Per the plan, neither of them spoke until they were cutting through the woods towards the car they had stolen for transport.  

Since to make it look like a break-in gone bad, you actually had to steal something Winter had a small cloth sack containing a laptop, a few data sticks and from a fucking safe that was only six inches from the floor, a wad of cash. While Loki had-- “What the hell Boss! Is that a curtain? You look like fucking Santa Claus.”

“Oh surely not. I am much better looking than Odin, even in his younger years.”

“What does--”

 _Thor’s Dad!_ Old Bucky, all but screeched.  

“--Thor’s dad, have to do with Christmas?”

“Your Santa Claus was based on Odin of course. As for what I have in the sack, quite a bit of silver flatware and hollowware, which when wrapped for protection from damage is rather bulky, a good bit of men’s jewelry that was hidden quite ingeniously inside a heavy overcoat hanging in the closet and strangely three fur coats that were hanging all by themselves in an otherwise empty closet, that I assume belonged to his wife. 

He wasn’t sure how he’d missed it, what with Loki insisting that all Winter’s gear be chased, gilded or adorned with gold, but the Boss turned out to be more than a bit of a magpie. A magpie who like to share.

_Except if something is made of silver._

Well yeah, except for silver, that he disappeared into his space pocket never to be seen again. Even when they weren’t making it look like a robbery, even when on Avenger missions he’d case the joint. In fact Loki, who was a wiz at finding hiding places, would make sure to point out safes for Winter to attend to while he hopped over cooling bodies to search the rest of the place. All the gold, gems and cash he gave to Winter. And he occasionally liberated the odd--

_Objet d'art._

 --as a present slash bribe for some friend of his mother’s named Idun. And an aunt named Freya. Antique jade and ancient porcelain figured heavily.

Of course it wasn’t all fun and games. Later the evening that they’d taken out Stern, after they discarded all the gear they’d used in the river, and returned the car, none the worst for its adventure–

_Something that must have surprised the shit out of its owner since you guys had it for two days._

True. But, I did leave a few hundred in the glove box to pay for getting the steering column fixed.

_Of course it was nice of you to drop the watches, and loose stones in various mail boxes down in the Bronx. And to give those fur coats to the old ladies pushing shopping carts._

That had been a lot of fun, he’d felt like Robin Hood. What hadn’t been a lot of fun was the nightmare that sat him bolt upright in bed about three hours after he’d gone to sleep.

Covered in sweat and gasping like a fish out of water, Winter's first indication that he hadn’t been recaptured by Hydra was the sight of the globe sitting on his nightstand. He was certain that Hydra would never have given the Asset a nightlight. And if they had, it wouldn’t have been a gently glowing representation of the Yadra-whatever-tree. Okay, so he was still in New York. Good. Very good. Not so good were the shivers of panic still running up and down his entire body, and his heart trying to pound straight out of his chest. He’d like to blame the step-down doses of his sleeping medicine, but he’d been on that for a few weeks now without a problem.

Several minutes later, when he had just convinced himself that he could lay back down and rest, if not actually sleep a noise outside his door had him up on his feet, with his armor and weapons manifesting around him even as he ripped open the door and rolled into the living room fetching up behind the couch.  

 

OoooO

With a hard, slow twist and an almost inaudible crunch of internal parts being deformed, Loki’s now broken door knob allowed him entry. The room’s wards washed over him with a slight tingle a bit, but allowed him to pass. But not pass unnoticed, since since a messy mass of hair was brushed back enough that Winter could just make out one eye closing before a long white arm snaked back under the covers.

Just like always, it took a few times poking him, to get Loki to move over. But after grumbling into his pillow, and muttering that if he’d wanted a dog in his bed he would have gotten one, the Asgardian would shift from the center of the bed. Mostly, generally leaving Winter entirely unimpressed with the space cleared, often to the point of him shoving Loki’s foot further out of his way. If the guy didn’t want to be disturbed after a mission, he could damn well quit hogging the center of the bed.  Loki wanted to sleep in peace? Well, Winter **_wanted_** to sit on Loki’s bed until dawn. And he was allowed to want.

He was also allowed to retrieve his knife, with only a raised brow on Loki’s part, from where it had impaled the automatic ice maker on the bar.

 

OoooO

With the exception of Doom taking a little too much interest in the boss the second time they’d fought him, their missions, both authorized or not, had all been pretty successful. Yeah, they inevitably gave him nightmares, but usually only that night. And they hadn’t been near as bad since Loki had just given him his own quilt, and a second night light for what was turning out to be Winter’s ‘Mission Night Side of the Bed’.

_Like when you and Stevie used to share. Except Loki’s bed is almost as big as your whole room used to be._

And, nightmares aside, their missions definitely released some of the tension this whole free agency stuff built up. You just could not explain to people that after seventy years of not doing it, how much pressure making every damn decision for yourself caused. Hell, the amount of drink choices at dinner could be overwhelming.

_Like deciding which is the better choice, Coke or Pepsi?_

Exactly, how the hell do people have time to research the hundreds of decisions they have to make a day. And it started the fucking moment you woke up, do we need to use conditioner today, or would it be better to skip a day so it doesn’t create a greasy buildup. And don’t even get him started on picking out clothes for the day. You would think just deciding if the day’s activities called for casual, or formal clothes would suffice, but no, there were variations. Three piece suit, or slacks and sports coat. Jeans and a long sleeve T or dress jeans and a sweater shirt combo.

_Or Khakis and a nice plaid shirt._

Yeah, no. I have news for you, and Captain Tight-Ass, no one, and this definitely includes your precious _Stevie_ , looks good in plaid and khakis. In hindsight one of the few benefits of being a brainwashed assassin was that he hadn’t realize how knuckleheaded he’d looked during some of the Hydra and Russian missions over the years. What in the hell had his handlers had been thinking when they thought a velour tracksuit or mullet haircut would help him blend in during a recon? And he didn’t even want to think about what a shock it had been every time he’d caught a look at his reflection back when pornstaches had been in style.

So. Thinking back on all the fashion disasters that someone had thought were a good idea in the past, it was no wonder he stressed over his wardrobe along with everything else. He knew he was a good looking guy, and considering the good looking company he was running with these days he wanted to look his best. So much so, that he’d actually considered putting Loki’s doll, Lewis, on speed dial. Or rather, he had until she’d made disparaging remarks about the scarves. He’d rather blow up his data plan and endure the occasional raised eyebrow from Loki by googling everything himself, than have anyone make smart assed remarks about metro-whatevers and his scarfs.

 _Loki wears scarfs._   

He does, and does she every say anything snide about his? No.

“Does he have to do that?” Stark asked, causing him to stop pacing as Loki glanced over the back of the couch at him.

“Winter, we will be awhile, perhaps you might like to visit Captain Rogers? Or perhaps go get a drink? Or even, get Captain Rogers, so you can both go get a drink?”

No he most certainly does not want to do either of those two things. But then he also doesn’t want to watch Stark, and Loki circle around each other all night. For reasons he refused to delve into, that never fails to piss him off.

“Jarvis? Is Spangles still around?”

“Yes, Sir, Captain Rogers is in his apartment. Shall I notify him that will shortly be having company?”

Lifting a brow at Winter, Stark waited a moment for his response, and then said, “Tell him to put on his dancing shoes J. Apparently he and Winter are going out tonight.”

Winter figured he had about a fifty-fifty chance of killing Stark before Loki or Jarvis could stop him. And with it being Stark, he was of course tempted. However, the boss would be pissy about it, so without another word, he contented himself with a withering glare as he spun on his heel heading towards the elevator.   

_Steve can’t dance._

Winter sighed.

 

OoooO

Steve was of course delighted to spend time with Winter, and to his credit, made a really praise worthy attempt to not call him Bucky. In fact he only slipped up about four times. It may have been technically fall, but as summer hadn’t quite given up yet, the trees still had all of their leaves and the evening air was more temperate than chilly. Which suited them just fine, because neither of them were fond of the cold. After a mile or so of walking in silence, they took a left onto 9th Street for a block or so, before Rogers turned left again, directing them, after a short detour to pick up some coffee and donuts, to the nearby Bryant Park.

“Nice night, huh?” Rogers said, pulling out a metal chair, looking around at the almost deserted park. Sitting down he pulled the bag they had placed on the table just moments earlier closer to him, and rummaged inside for a napkin, before reaching into the large box under them to pull out a glazed donut. Pushing the bag back towards Winter he said, “Hey, I meant to tell you, I met the greatest lady at the VA clinic I volunteer at. Her name’s Sarah, she’s their Programs Administrator. Smart as a whip, has a great sense of humor, do you think maybe you might like to meet her? Not that it’s that important, but she’s quite the looker.”  

Winter did not sigh, but he really wanted to. “Rogers, if she’s all that wonderful why not date her yourself?”

“Oh. Um. I can’t, I’m kinda seeing someone else.”

_Really? And we haven’t heard word one about it before now?_

Old Bucky was not the only one who view that statement with suspicion. With the ragging that Rogers’ crew subjected everybody to, and the Lewis chick who could have made a living as a gossip maven, Winter should have heard _something_ if Rogers was dating. He regarded Rogers with narrowed eyes.

Deeply suspicious.

“How does one kinda see someone?” Winter finally asked, and not surprisingly, Rogers immediately became very interested in his coffee cup. “Does she _know_ you’re seeing each other?”

Head snapping up, Rogers retorted through gritted teeth, “Yes, Asshole, she does.”

Winter decided to show his complete unconcern at the blond idiot’s piss poor attempt to glare intimidatingly by snagging the donut bag. “Uh, huh. And you are trying to set me up why? You need someone to double date with? Red and Arrow boy don’t like jazz?”

”Look, Bu--- Winter. While I don’t totally agree with Tony, he might have actually have a point.”

What?

With a donut halfway out of the bag Winter froze, Glancing over at Rogers he could feel his face screwing up into one big confused squinch. “What the hell are you talking about Rogers?”

“Not about the sex specifically, but maybe try to get out, meet some more people, relax a little.” Rogers smiled ruefully. “And just maybe meet a nice girl to spend some time with, going to movies, or dancing or something. You used to love dan--” Realizing that he had again wandered into ‘Old Bucky’ land, Rogers flushed and trailed off.

_Dancing is great._

Don’t you start.

After a moment studying his donut under the harsh brightness of the nearby street lamp, and not finding any answers written anywhere on it, Winter proceeded to chomp off a good third of it. Staring just over Rogers left shoulder at a stand of somewhat scraggly bushes, he considered. As much as he didn’t want to talk about this to anyone, he’d learned from his briefings, and direct observation over the last few weeks, that it would take at least a missile barrage to get Rogers off a topic once he’d latched on to it.

_But he means well._

After swallowing the last of his chocolate cake donut, which would have been a pretty good if he wasn’t too keyed up to enjoy it, Winter washed it down with a large gulp of mediocre coffee, and then looked Rogers straight in the eye. “Really?” He asked his tone more than a little acerbic. “And how exactly is do you figure?  Let’s just suppose I ignore that fact that with my background, any doll I meet has a decent chance of being a honey pot for Hydra or some government who would like to get their hands on me.”

“We could run a background check, no problem. Heck, Natasha does that every time they get a new waitress at the coffee shop across the street.”

“Yeah? Great, I have to get any chance met doll checked out before I can even make a move on them. But let’s assume they check out clean and when next I meet them they are still giving me the eye. Then what Rogers? Nowadays, even nice girls want to get laid. How do you think that’s going to work out? What me being so strong? And, let’s be real, the best I can figure it from the crap Old Bucky keeps pushing at me, the last time I had sex with a doll was when we were all in Italy. So who knows exactly how that would work out, my strength, and you know urges… And this arm.”

If he had stayed in Asgard longer, he _might_ have taken Frandral up on his offers of introduction, if only to see how sex would pan out these days, relying on the fact that Asgardians were so much tougher than humans to keep everyone safe. But perhaps not, he wasn’t wild about doing it with a pro, because even before his own issues, he definitely hadn’t been okay with involuntary sex. Even seemingly willing, you could never be sure them being in the business wasn’t forced.  Regardless, while in Asgard, he had too many other things to adjust too, and sex just wasn’t that high up on his lists of things he needed to take care of. Hell, he hasn’t even wanked off in the shower yet.  

_But you’ve thought about it. And there was that one dream after you and Loki had gone to the tailors for final fitt--_

Angrily, Winter fought down a blush.

Will you _shut_ the fuck _up_?! I’m trying to decide what information I can give Rogers to get him to drop this shit, without turning him into a basket case, and you are bringing up involuntary reactions? If you’re as worried about your precious Stevie as you claim, quit being a jerk and focus will ya.

Taking a deep breath he continued, “And another thing, going out to meet people? What happens if some guy thinks I am putting the moves on his best girl? I don’t want someone seriously hurt just because they surprise me by throwing a punch.” Ducking his head a bit, Winter glanced up at Rogers from under his brows. “I read all that stuff Stark gave me, apparently guys now make passes at other guys. What if some guy hits on me and I freak out? Unlike Stark, they won’t have the protection of a super suit.”

Steve, who had been looking a bit troubled, amazingly lightened up at his last question. “I can see your point on the worrying about hurting someone with your strength, I’ll be honest, I worry too. But you don’t have to worry about guys. I’ve had it happen to me, and yeah it’s embarrassing as hell, and kinda annoying, but just tell them you aren’t interested, they’ll leave you alone.”

Your _Stevie_ is a clueless moron, Winter savagely snarled at Old Bucky.

Leaning so far in his chair that the metal creaked, Winter gave Rogers the flattest, deadest glare he could manage.

“Buck?”

“Rogers, do you have any idea the kind of things that can happen to a war prisoner who spends decades as a brainwashed meat puppet?  I mean when they weren’t experimenting on me to see how well I healed? Or beating me until I didn’t have a thought in my head, except what was pounded into it? Do you think the type of people they make handlers are nice, decent and caring? Do you have any idea the kinds of things the perverts that will take on jobs like that might do to someone they control absolutely? Do you think after decades of crap like that happening more often than I care to remember that I’m not going to be freaked by some random guy touching me unexpectedly? The first time a guy put his hand on my ass, I would most likely rip off his goddamn arm and beat him to death with it.”

Stricken, and slack jawed, Rogers’ face, drained of all blood looked up at him; it was ghastly pale in the hard, artificial blue-white street lamp. Breathing heavily, Winter noticed that not only was he now standing, but his coffee was on the ground, the bag with the donuts had almost joined it, and he’d gouged a large chunk out of the filigree wrought-iron table he’d been sitting at.

“Oh Buck,” Rogers said, his voice cracking with pain.  

“My name’s Winter now,” he ground out. “If you never believe another word I say Rogers, trust me on this. You don’t want your Bucky to have all of _my_ memories. You leave him alone, as annoying as he can be sometimes, I kept him safe. If you...”

As fat tears spilled over and traced a glimmering line down Rogers’ face, Winter shuddered to a stop, the constriction in his chest, and throat making it impossible to breathe, let alone talk. “I’m so sorry, Buck. I should have looked for you. I should have never stopped looking for you. I’m so, so sorry.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ************Trigger Warning – Brief mention of past rape ********************
> 
> Again, all hail Emu Sam!


	15. Chapter 15 - Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Winter's very presence hurts Rogers, it sucks that them staying apart would do the same. Loki should not quit his day job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General thoughts that have led up to this point in the end notes if you are interested.
> 
> Beta'd by the most wonderful [EmuSam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EmuSam/pseuds/EmuSam)

**Chapter 15 - Regrets**

Head pillowed in his arms, Rogers sobbed out apologies, regrets, and self-reproach in a broken stream of half articulated sentences. The misery and despair rolling off him was almost visible. And, not unlike the summer heat waves Winter had experienced crossing through Ghadames, on his way into Libya, they were enough to almost smother a person. And that was without the Mission Failure punishment constricting Winter’s throat and chest, and driving spikes into his brain.

_Bear!_

Ughnn.

_BEAR!_

Making some ghastly, ugly attempts at dragging in enough air to stave off unconsciousness, Winter fell forward, shoulders hunched, head hanging and wide splayed elbows the only thing saving him from face planting onto the metal table top.

_JERK!! Give him the goddam BEAR!!_

Huh?

Oh.

It took about a week, maybe two, for Winter’s hand to fumble open his pouch and achieve the necessary clarity of thought required to extract that damn Bucky Bear. And then maybe another three to shove it across the table and jam it against and slightly under Rogers forearm.

Fingertips still touching him, Winter felt Rogers’ arm shift, and then blessedly, an almost immediate lightening of his own pain. It was small, but still welcome. Hopefully Rogers would shift enough to activate the spell again before he short circuited it with super soldier snot and tears, but in the meantime, Winter still needed more air.

It was only the work of a moment to transfer from sitting in the chair to being down on his hands and knees. And if his decent had been more fall than controlled roll, he really didn’t care. Flattening himself out on the cold flagstones, he rolled his back, a position that relieved enough constriction that he could breath just a bit easier.   

“Buck!”

Or not.

Rogers newly distressed cry was accompanied in short order by spine twisting pain, and then the big jerk himself kneeling beside him, pawing at him. Like patting Winter’s cheeks and shoulders was going to do any goddamn good.

“Hug. The bear,” he gasped, feeling the muscles in his toes contracting so tight they tried to curl right through the soles of his boots.

“What? Oh, Buck, I’m so sorry!”

Huffing through clenched teeth, Winter said, “Hug. The. Fuckin’. Bear.”

“Oh? Oh!”

There was a scrambling noise and then a feeling like you got when a dose of morphine hit your system. Not enough to immediately free you from pain, but rather the welcome harbinger of possible relief to come, if you were lucky. Winter opened his eyes to see Rogers’ tearstained face looking down at him. Even in the heavy shadows caused by the flat light of the streetlamp, the red rimming Rogers’ wet eyes and swollen nose was dark enough to be distressing.

“Hug again. It will. Calm you.”

Puzzlement momentarily displaced grief, and it took Winter nudging his leg to get Rogers to give the bear another fucking hug.

“Hey Mister! Is he alright? Should I call an ambulance? Flag down a cop?”

Oh fuck.

“Rogers, again.”

It was the merest moment before Winter’s contracted muscles relaxed so much that he was pretty sure that Rogers was hugging magic bear for all he was worth.  

“Thanks, but he’s fine.”  

Are you sure? Do you need some help getting him up?”

Opening his eyes at last, Winter slid his hand under his shirt, upholstered the pistol tucked into his belt, pulled it out and panted, “Pal. Please go away. I would hate. To have to shoot you. When you’re only trying. To help.”

“Buck!” Rogers admonished as the Good Samaritan wanna-be jumped back. “Forgive him please, he’s a little shook. I’m gonna let him settle a few minutes then I’ll call a cab and get him home. Promise. But thanks.”

Backing rapidly away from them the guy said, “Umm, you’re welcome. If you’re sure, I’ll be going. Ah. Bye.” He moved out of view first, and then earshot as he rejoined whatever group he’d been part of, telling them, “Who knows, he says they're okay.”

Rogers pulled out his phone.  

“Jarvis. Can you send me a cab right now? Or a car? Whichever is faster?”

“Of course sir, Bryant Park, 6th Avenue side, towards West 40th. I will call you when they are close.” Jarvis, being no dummy despite Stark’s hand in his creation obviously picked up on Rogers upset asking, “Do you require any other assistance Captain Rogers? Shall I ask Sir, or Prince Loki to come to your location?”

“No. It’s okay now. Buck’s a little under the weather, I’m just gonna take him home. But, thanks Jarvis.” A moment later, Rogers flopped down beside him, hugging the bear like he was being paid piece work. “I’ll get you home safe, Buck. I swear I will.”

OoooO

 

Post migraine fatigue was a bitch. While he was able to stumble to the car with only a little help--

_He had to practically carry you!_

\--Okay, a lot of help. He insisted that Rogers leave him at the door of his hotel suite. Remembering, at the last minute, to snag the damn Fucky Bear away from him.

The boss met him right inside the door.

With a soothing lack of emotion after all he’d put up with his evening, he motioned Winter forward, closing the door behind him. “Jarvis told me there might have been a problem.”

“You could say.” Much too tired to work the mo-jo needed to put the bear away, it dangled by one paw as Winter was steered into his bathroom. Loki, somehow took the bear off him and set it on the counter before urging him towards the shower.

“You’re covered in dirt, and… Powdered sugar? No matter, At least rinse off, I’ll get you something clean to wear.”

Wishing it was possible to wash away the past as easily as he did dirt stuck to dried coffee, Winter did more than rinse off. But eventually, skin scrubbed almost as raw as his nerves, he dried off, and slipped on the loose pants and tank top that had been left for him. Then he wiped a slightly damp towel over the dusty bear and carried it with him, again by one paw, to his bedroom, chucking it on the bench at the bottom of the bed the moment he got close enough.

The boss, who was sitting cross legged on the far side of Winter’s bed, facing the head board, smiled over his shoulder, and patted the bed, silently urging him to lay down. Winter was more than glad to slip under the cover, but, as tired as he was, he didn’t want to go to sleep just yet. What he wanted to do was give a completely unrequested but totally necessary mission report, one that encompassed not only this evening’s fiasco, but how it related to his time with Hydra, and the Russians, and what he could remember about growing up in a ‘good’ Catholic community in 1930’s Brooklyn.

It was not a short report.   

    

OoooO

Trained assassins were not supposed to shiver in fear when someone held them close. But fuck if he can help it.

He wants--

He wanted to have someone hold him and tell him everything will be okay, so even though he knew it wasn’t true, he wanted to at least pretend to believe it, even if it was just for a few minutes. But then he didn’t, because that would be a lie. And even for someone with a brain messed up with gaps and holes, wanting both those things at the same time doesn’t make any sense. Still, when Loki leaned forward to help pull the covers around him, he grabbed the god’s hand and tugged him towards the top of the bed. Then after he was sitting beside Winter with a few pillows shoved between both their backs and the padded headboard Winter began his report. Somewhere during detailing the final preparation for his first Russian mission, a distant part of him realized that tears were sliding down his cheeks.

It was by no mean the first time Soldat had shed tears during a report, but it was the first time anyone hadn’t yelled and punished him for it. Instead, Loki snaked an arm behind his back and drew him close. Long fingers stroked his hair in a soothing pattern. And there was a feeling of warmth and comfort that Winter hadn’t experienced since he’d been Old Bucky. He just wished everything else wasn’t so awful, he would have liked to have at least a few unsullied minutes of comfort.

Pausing to marshal his thoughts while in the midst of reporting on the expectations of 1930’s Brooklyn, Winter became aware that he’d shifted until he was lying half against the other man’s chest, with his head tucked under Loki’s chin. And even with several layers of clothing separating them, this is… Disturbing… And distracting… And delightful...

Distractingly delightful? With errant spikes of desire mixed with disgust from Old Bucky?

Winter thought that maybe, given a chance, he could have squashed all those memories back into the more repressed, judgmental, bigoted times that Old Bucky grew up in… If it wasn’t for the flashes of other, even deeper, darker, and more twisted memories, that spoke of helplessness, pain, and enforced loathing, that all started with--

“Shhhhh,” a low murmur called him back from the edge of hyperventilating, and long fingers threaded through his hair, pressing him closer. “Even in the best organizations, which the Hydra and the Russians were assuredly not, there are those twisted miscreants who use their power to force themselves on the unwilling, hurting them because they can. You did nothing wrong. There is never anything wrong surviving to fight another day.” Even with his sight obscured by a long falls of both black and brown hair, Winter kept his eyes open, listening to both the soothing voice and the heartbeat of the person who saved him from killing Steve, the one act that could have damned him to remaining Soldat forever.

“I suspect, in this more accepting era, given time, you would have come to accept that there was nothing wrong with your feelings, however you had decided to express them, for you are one of the most adaptable creatures I have ever met. However, given your treatment at the hands of those who only wanted to forcibly take more of you than they already had, your fear and revulsion, despite your preferences for male camaraderie, are not surprising.” Brushing his hair back, Loki tugged gently until Winter tipped his head enough to make eye contact. Loki searched his face carefully, a small, sad smile playing across his lips.

“While I have no desire to interrupt your report, might I share something with you?

“In many cultures, there are those men and women who desire above all things to associate with their own gender. Often not even because they are attracted to them sexually, but because they feel more emotional support, better understand, or just enjoy interacting with others who are like themselves.” Breaking eye contact, Loki huffed out a small laugh and shook his head. “And honestly, I suppose there could sometimes be an element of selfishness there, since in the midst of such society you no doubt get to spend your leisure time doing only those things that _you_ enjoy.

Old Bucky, who had been blessedly silent up until now asked plaintively, _Where is he going with this?_

“Anyhow, in situations where their personal self-gendered preference opposes their sexual attraction, the smart ones seek out a like-minded person of the opposite sex.

I have no idea, Winter replied.  

Winter was pretty certain his expression could not get anymore what-the-fuck if his life depended on it.

“Shall I explain?”

He nodded.

“For example, flora in its many variations is an all-consuming passion with certain Æsir females. However, you would be hard pressed to find many males who want to spend the majority of their leisure time cultivating just the right blooms, or exhaustively working on landscaping, floral arranging, maintaining the horticulture requirements of an aesthetically pleasing orchard, or creating a new hybrid out cross.”

Mentally exhausted or not, Winter had to know, “How… How do you know about that stuff?”

Amusement danced in Loki’s eyes. “My mother was one of them.”

_Huh._

“By the same token, certain Æsir males want to spend weeks at a time, filthy dirty, sitting around a smoky fire congratulating each other on not getting killed by whatever hair-brained scheme they’d just completed. And deciding on what potentially lethal, but masculinity-affirming activity they want to undertake in the morning.”

_I’m still not getting it._

Well that made two of them. Winter raised an inquiring brow.

“People like that should not inflict themself on someone who wants partner to be their main source of emotional support and companionship. And on the other side of the coin, those who want a partner to be their main source of emotional support and companionship should not try to form an attachment with someone who demonstratively cannot provide that.”

Winter could feel his face crinkling in confusion as he leaned back to get a really good look at Loki. “And you are telling me this, why?”

“Because you feel guilty that you prefer sex with women, but the companionship of men. And you wonder if it is only because of the way you were raised.” Loki shrugged. “Perhaps given the chance you would have found your desires encompassed both, which certainly would have opened up more choices for you. But, by any road, you feel guilt because you are just ‘ _using them dames to scratch your itch_ ’, which I might mention is an ungrammatical and perfectly repulsive phrase. Regardless, I am merely trying to point out, that with the right kind of female; this would not be a problem.”

“Did you miss the part about possibly hurting them by accident?”

“No. Did you forget the part about your choices no longer being limited to _dames_ from this planet? I assure you that would not be a problem with Æsir, Vanir, or Ljósálfar women. Unless of course they hear you using that repulsive phrase of yours.”  

“Funny. What about--”

“Winter, I am fairly certain that your glare alone would ward off any unwelcome advances from even the drunkest person. And if it doesn’t, I have faith that your response will be appropriately nuanced.”

Settling down on his side, where he’d started from a million years ago, Loki again help him settle his covers. “I kicked Stark all the way across the room for a bad joke,” he muttered into his pillow.

“See, a perfectly acceptable amount of force for a man wearing a metal can.”

Heh. Closing his eyes against the light, Winter decided that, while it was nice of Loki to try and make him feel better with his crazy theory, he really shouldn’t quit his day job.

_Oh, I don’t know. Miles Davidson’s dad spent most of his free time down at the Sons of St. George, or playing Bowls at the park. And when Mrs. Davidson wasn’t with their six kids, she was with the other ladies in our building that belonged to the Ladies' Sanitary Aid Society. They seemed to get along just fine._

Old Bucky, who seemed strangely persistent in his attempts to reconcile Winter to the idea of a couple whose lives ran merrily on parallel tracks only to meet occasionally in the station--

To use about a million less words than Loki. Lord, did that guy like to hear himself talk.

\--Kept sliding him memories of the Mister and Mrs. Davidson when they were together. And while the couple seemed, at least as Old Bucky remembered them, happy, those memories made him more than a little unsettled. He suspected that he would be the type of person who wanted their partner to be a ‘ _main source emotional support’,_ and all that jazz. Something that would have been impossible back in the day even if he hadn’t fallen off that damn train in Germany.  

_Still beats being shoved in freezer when they don’t have anyone they want you to kill._

And that, that was very true.

It wasn’t until he was just on the cusp of sleep that Winter realized that while he might be covered with bruises and ache all over, he had so much to think about that he wasn’t near as upset about this evening as he had been.

Of course he still wasn’t letting go of Loki’s jacket.

OoooO

 

Curled into a tight ball on his right side, and stiff beyond belief, it took two attempts for Winter to straighten out. And he regretted it immediately, as every damn muscle in his body let him know how displeased they were with him. Something he thought was completely and totally unfair, since it wasn’t like he was responsible for all this pain.

_I wouldn’t have happen if you hadn’t upset Steve._

Just don’t. I’m in no mood for you this morning.

**Clever Boy, this life is complicated and it can’t help but hurt you.**

And he was never in the mood to listen to his internal handler.

Of course, now lying on his back spread out like a starfish, he also wasn’t in the mood to move even an inch more. Not even to dig the lump out from under his back that he suspected was a stuffed bear that he knows he hadn’t left on the bed. However, as much he didn’t want to move, he soon realized that it was either get up, or piss the bed. So, muscles and joints screaming at him or not, he rolled off the edge of the bed and stumbled his way into the bathroom. And much, much later, after a shave that was so hit or miss it hardly qualified as one, and a whole lot of stretching and reaching and trying to work all the kinks out of his body as he dressed, Winter ended up sitting on end of his bed wishing his boots were slip-on.

**It is more important to provide support and protection to the ankles, particularly when running over irregular ground. Slip on boots are mission non-compliant. You know this to be true. Soldat, why waste time considering unsuitable gear acquisition?**

Soldat isn’t here anymore, asshole. Go away.

Snatching up, and shoving Fucky Bear into his magic pouch, Winter went in search of the boss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first off, neither Loki nor I are mental health professionals. So no flaming please. The whole 'parallel track/meeting at the station occasionally' even if one of the couple wasn't gay occurred often enough in in the 50's. And, as kids, over hearing adults talking about why this couple or that couple shouldn't be together, any kid paying attention had an 'Ah, ha, 'That's why Mr Y practically lives at the firehall and Sportsman's camp' moment. And honestly, it still goes on today with people who have consuming hobbies or interests... I know this for a fact. :D (Or to be fair - Mrs Y spends all her time at card club or visiting her sisters/friends.) 
> 
> As for this Bucky's headspace, I was approaching him in this story as someone who could have grown up conflicted, since the church (which was a major influencer) and society condemned those who were different. Both would have been powerful reasons for someone who was Bi not to rock the boat. 
> 
> And as Winter explained to Steve in the last chapter, I suspect that even if this Bucky had been solely attracted to men, (Which I don't think he was) Winter would have had real problems with the horrible things that had been inflicted on him. 
> 
> Hopefully, this all made sense explaining where this Bucky and Winter are at mentally.


	16. Chapter 16 - Assassins Don't Pout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stark is a sharing kind of guy, Lewis tries to throw Winter under the bus, and sometimes a guy just needs some me time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. this is late for possibly the lamest, yet true reason in the world. I am retired. And when I went to post it on 'Wednesday' I realized that it was actually 'THURSDAY' and I was already late for something else. I don't know what happened to Wednesday. I would claim I left it in my other purse... except I only use the one. My Bad. 
> 
> Beta'd by the most wonderful [EmuSam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EmuSam/pseuds/EmuSam) (Except for the first bit, which I didn't get to her one time. More my bad.)

### Chapter 16 - Assassins Don't Pout

Winter was rolling out of bed by the time the echoes of the first boom finished washing over him. He was unwillingly armored, the shit was seriously uncomfortable when you were only wearing boxers underneath, and had already thrown open Loki’s door yelling that someone was trying to break in by the time the third boom reached him. He and his Skorpion were trained on the door by the time Loki billowed his way into the entry hall. Sparing a glance, and then wishing he hadn’t, Winter beheld the tall, pale god in all his messy curl, bare chested glory. Wearing of course his signature green silk robe and sleep pants.

 _Like he ever wears anything but green silk or leather,_ Old Bucky sniped.

Galkkk~

Drawing upon _decades_ of training to ignore mission non compliant distractions, and his cheeks heating up despite his best efforts, Winter resolutely turned his attention away from the mental image of the boss in bed wear various sleeping outfits made up of silk and leather together… And back towards the door, waiting for the signal to open it.

Loki waved his hand and a transparent looking portal rimmed with green smoke showed them that Stark, his driver Happy and Steve were on the other side of the door. Stark’s arm raised once again to pound on it.

Loki tsked, “Open it please,” He said as the portal disappeared with a tiny snap and a small flash of green.

Pointing his machine pistol at the ceiling, Winter used his left hand to unlock the door and throw it open. Catching Stark about to begin another round of door pounding.  

Hands clasped in front of him, the very picture of someone trying not to lose their temper,  Loki demanded, “Stark, how did you get on this floor without an elevator authorization being issued?”

“Awww, did I startle Aibo here? As for why I am standing here, and not cooling my heels while Robo-Puppy makes me wait in the lobby like he always does? I didn’t want to. And besides, you know bypassing other peoples security always makes my day.”

“Hello Loki, Hey… Winter, how was Dallas yesterday?” Head tucked down a bit, rubbing the back of his neck, Roger looked sheepishly up at them. “Sorry about waking you up, it wasn’t my idea, honest. Tony snagged me on my way out to run and demanded I come with him.”  

“Hey! I come bearing gifts.” He pointed to the large gift wrapped parcel his driver was carrying and then held up his other hand, which had two bakery boxes tied together with string. “And look, I bought pastry!”

Motioning Winter to one side, Loki waved his unwelcome, and in Stark’s case entirely too happy for this hour of the morning, guests in.  “What are you doing out this early Stark? Shouldn’t you be passed out in your workshop? Or making love to a cup of coffee at this hour of the day?”  
  
Stepping forward, Stark bounced up on his tiptoes to plant a quick kiss on the side of Loki’s jaw. As the boss’ nose wrinkled up like someone who’d just been licked by a badly behaved mutt, he placed a spread hand on Stark’s face and pushed him away. Unfazed Stark said, “Actually, snookums, I’m not up early so much as I am up late. And, since I come bearing gifts, you could at least pretend to be pleased to see me.” He turned and called out, “Bring it in Happy.”  
  
Happy handed over a approximately meter tall rectangle wrapped in bright paper, criss-crossed with ribbons and a large bow in upper corner.

Just to fuck with Stark, because they both seemingly got off doing that, Loki accepted the gift and instead of immediately opening it, set it down declaring as he swanned his way toward his room, “You will possess yourself with patience, I am going to get dressed. And while I am doing that I will have Ms. Lewis bring up coffee and chocolate.”

“So, what’s in the package?” Winter asked in a low voice audible only someone with enhanced hearing, as Rogers came over and stood beside him.

Brow slightly creased, Rogers glanced to where Loki had propped his gift against an end table. “From the shape of the package, I’m guessing it’s artwork. Perhaps he bought Loki a painting? Maybe something from William-Adolphe Bouguereautuff? Didn’t you two go to an exhibition of his works not long ago.”

Technically, Lodmun and Bran in disguise, had gone to that exhibition, while Loki and Winter had paid a stealthy visit to an arms dealer in Vienna that Stark had given them a lead on. But once they’d returned, Loki _had_ devoured the glossy exhibitions catalog, he’d been particularly captivated by the paintings ‘Hard Lesson’ and ‘Bacchante’, both of which featured brunette females with compelling gazes. The guy definitely had a type.

_He does, we should talk about that._

No. No, we shouldn’t.

While they waited for Loki to return, Rogers nattered on about a hospital appearance he’d gone to while Winter and Loki had been in Dallas, and Stark, having been summarily stopped from following Loki into his bedroom, was arguing with Happy over biometric versus key cards or something.

The only break from the tedium was when Lewis had arrived with one of Loki’s sterling sets. This one was round, baroque and looked to weigh a freaking ton.

_How many tea, coffee, and chocolate sets does one guy need? Sheesh. What does this make that we’ve seen so far? Four?_

Five. Six if you count that Wine and Claret set. And if you want me to pay attention to what Rogers is saying, you need to shut up.  

Having parked the room service cart to her satisfaction, Lewis immediately started badgering Stark about some paperwork he was late getting back to her, and only shut up when a freshly showered and dressed to the nines God of Mischief waltzed back into the room.

And since Stark was now dancing around like a first-grader that had to pee, Loki, asshole that he was, decided he needed a cup of chocolate and a biscuit before finally setting Stark’s gift on a chair and ripping the wrapping paper to reveal a bronze metal frame, cream double matt and... a poster sized photograph.  

_That… That, is not a good angle._

“Tony!”

“Shit!” Lewis swore, grabbing her phone and furiously tapping on it.

Trying to take it all in, while ignoring the total horribleness of it all, Winter finally looked around the room. Rogers blushing furiously, Stark predictably, was practically bouncing up and down in glee, and Loki-- Loki's lips twitched minutely, as he was trying very hard not to smile at the extremely unflattering picture of Rogers, lying on the pavement clutching Fucky Bear while Winter nudged him to hug it again.

“TMZ just posted the teaser,” Lewis said looking up from her phone. She narrowed her eyes at Stark, “Which makes me wonder how you already had it, and in a higher resolution than they released.”

Crinkling his face in an smug expression that would not be out of place in an argument between kindergarteners, Stark said, “Psssht. Seriously, Lewis? You have to ask? Jarvis of course. I thought it was adorable, so I decided to share.”

Winter slid a hand behind his back, and unlatched the strap holding his Asgarian dagger secure. Stark wasn’t the only person who could share. But just as he started to pull it loose, Loki stopped him by laying his own hand upon Winter’s.

“Tony, it’s six in the morning, how in the hell did you find a frame shop open at this hour?” Rogers demanded equally horrified, his face still a deep shade of pink that extended all the way to his hairline.

“Oh. Well. I didn’t of course. But there are all these really great frames on the executive floor, and… Well, I have some very talented people on the overnight janitorial staff. Jarvis printed it out in the right size, Ms. Jeanie popped open the back of one of the frames, swapped the pictures out and…” He threw both hands out toward the picture, “Taa-Dah!”

Shaking his head, Happy said in the fairly cheerful tone of someone looking forward to a treat, “Pepper’s going to kill him when she walks in and sees the Amedeo Modigliani abstract missing.”

OoooO

While he would have sworn--

 _Stupid picture that we destroyed before returning the frame to Ms. Potts notwithstanding_.

\--that he was his normal stoic self over the next few days, Lewis apparently disagreed.

“You know, I don’t blame Winter for pouting, it’s not fair, how come I never get to be glamoured up and go to sold out plays and billion starred restaurants?” Lewis bitched, slamming a stack of folders on top of the report Loki was in the middle of reading, thereby earning herself a ‘look’. Which predictably rolled off her like water off a duck.

“Winter does not pout.”

“What? Are you blind? When it’s prime seats to see Hamilton and a tasting menu at Eleven Madison Park, he pouts; he pouts up a storm.”

Using two fingers, Loki rubbed his right temple.

“Not to throw Winter under the bus--”

_Which she totally couldn’t do._

“--But just because he’s busy doing stuff for you, doesn’t mean I couldn’t go with them once in a while. After all, what am I? Chopped liver?”

Brows knit, Loki shut his mouth, abandoning whatever he had been about to say.

_But she totally just did throw us under the bus. Of course she lost a little momentum using untranslatable slang._

True. As Winter had learned the hard way, nothing could derail a conversation with the Boss quicker than him having to puzzle out what you meant. Raising an admonishing finger and making a little ‘hissst’ noise, Loki pulled over his tablet, fingers danced a moment across its surface and the furrow between his brows deepened momentarily before he turned his attention back to Lewis.

“Ah, no. I do not think you a low grade side dish of dubious culinary value.” He raised his voice, overriding whatever her retort was. “Additionally, Lodmund and Bran and not just enjoying themselves, they are setting themselves up as targets.”

“Lodmund’s a clerk,” Lewis said, not at all mollified. “I’ve been taking self defense classes for years now. Shield grade classes since I started working for Janie, and--” She trailed off. Loki’s face had become a completely neutral mask. A sure sign to those who knew him that the shit was about to hit the fan. The moment Loki started speaking, Winter could swear the temperature in the room had dropped down below freezing.

“My dear Ms. Lewis, you have no idea how many Æsir clerks, scholars and mages do not live long enough to complete the training for their chosen profession. But let me tell you that it takes an incredible amount of skill and determination for an Asgardian male to eschew a warrior's life. You would do well **_not_ ** to question his ability to protect himself, and if you value your own health, particularly not within his hearing.”

Cheeks suffused with color, Lewis mumbled something far too low for even Winter’s enhanced hearing before making a quick escape. Glancing over towards Winter, who’d been covertly watching the whole scene with his peripheral vision, Loki said, “If ever you want to spar, remember that Lodmund is not a _warrior_ ; he chose not to be. If you fight him, be prepared to counter every dishonorable move imaginable.” He studied Winter thoughtfully for a long moment, before tapping on his phone.

“Ah. Ms. Lewis, I want you to set up reservations for Winter and myself for Eleven Madison Park, and get us tickets for Hamilton. Tonight is preferable, but no later than tomorrow, if you please.”

“Fine, I'll get working on that right now, ” Lewis replied with enough venom in her voice that it was easy to distinguish, even over the phone. “Unless there's anything else?”

“Not at all. Thank you.” The tiny smile curling the corners of Loki’s mouth, and Hamilton and a tasting menu caused an answering smile on Winter’s own face, almost against his will.

_Wait for it._

There was silence, for perhaps the time it would take someone to disconnect their phone and push it carefully out of their way. Then, despite the excellent sound proofing between the suites, Winter’s enhanced hearing picked up the sound of an anguished scream. Loki winked at him before delicately picking up the folders that had been thrown across his desk.

OoooO

Hamilton and the ritzy restaurant had been great. So great, in fact, that Winter was considering paying out of his own pocket for Lewis and a friend to do the same so she would stop stomping around hissing at people, and more importantly, promise to never bring them take-out for dinner from anything less than a three star restaurant.

OoooO

Since Winter couldn’t have made it up to the penthouse without Jarvis alerting Stark, at least not in any way that wouldn’t have pissed Stark, Jarvis, and most likely Potts, straight off, the bastard lounging on the couch and pretending to not notice him was just being rude.

Another minute went by.

Stark was a jerk, he didn’t know why the boss put up with him.

 

“He wants to talk to you.” Stark looked up at last.

“Yeah? Well, since you were able to find me, he knows where I am. Tell him to come over.”

Winter sighed. Once. Just once, could Stark be something other than an asshole?

_No._

Of course to be fair, Stark and the boss did tend to get into frequent pissing contests with each other, and neither liked to be the one summoned. Frankly, they were both passive aggressive assholes who made life hard on everyone around them, and Winter was pretty sure that it wouldn’t be long before a group picture of the two of them was in some medical journal when you looked the term up. Or at least Wikipedia; Doll face was an editor, and she was pissed at both of them.

Still, to be fair, it _was_ Stark's turn to to be the summon-ee. That most likely was the only reason Jarvis had let him up without a lot of argument.

Still it took several long-assed minutes of Winter giving Stark one of his Stares-Of-Impending-Death, before the oppressor of the masses tossed his tablet aside with a huff and grudgingly stood up.  

“Fine. Okay. Fine. So tell me, Mister Gadget, where is the God of Poor Life Choices anyhow?”

_Did this jerk ever call anyone by their proper name?_

No, he did not.

Winter often wondered if he carved his name into Stark’s forearm if it would help him remember it.

_Doubtful._

Still, it was pretty tempting.

However, Winter was pretty sure Loki would get pissy if he damaged Stark while they were still business partners.

OoooO

“Ah, Stark. Please, seat yourself.” Loki, seated at a small wrought iron table, greeted the engineer genially, as if he hadn’t been kept waiting, and was even now contemplating methods of tenfold pay-back. Motioning Stark towards the vacant bistro chair opposite of him, Loki waved his hands and a massive gold washed sterling tray holding a neoclassical sterling silver tea set appeared on the table between them.

_Seven._

As Winter took up a watchful position a few feet away, Loki filled two delicate silver and gold chased white tea cups and handed it and a crisp linen napkin to Stark, who accepted it with a sigh.

“Lo, you know I am more a coffee drinker.”

“Forgive me for not coming to you, but Miss Lewis feels that both myself and Winter could use more sun. Otherwise people might mistake us for extras from a Tim Burton movie. Hence, this lovely venue. What, I ask you, could be more delightful that having tea in the park?”

“Lots of things, coffee for one. But let’s just move on, Robocop here doesn’t look happy.”

Loki turned and regarded Winter thoughtfully before he turned back and replied, “He looks as he generally looks.”

“No,” Stark drawled, “he generally only glares at me. What did you do to piss him off this afternoon. Besides decide he should stand around attempting photosynthesis?”

“Ah. Nothing but a few differences of opinion. One of them being: Winter is of the opinion I need a more secure domicile.”

“Well, yeah. Aren’t you still staying at the Waldorf or Ritz Carton or something?”

“The St. Regis.”

“Still. You might want to pick up your own place. Perhaps 834 Fifth Avenue? They have great security, not as good as mine, but still.”

“I believe Winter is leaning more towards an evil lair.”

“Well, you were a super villain. Get yourself an island or something.”

“I don’t think so,” Winter muttered, intentionally not quite under his breath.

Stark cocked a brow, glancing up at him with a crooked smile. “No? Why not? Salt water too hard on the arm? Let me guess. You don’t want sand in its gears as well as the crack of your ass?”

 _Again rude_ . _But then again, his father wasn’t noted for being polite._

True, the gin bottle didn’t fall far from the tree with this clown.

“Reduced concerns about collateral damage make an private island too easy to target for an airstrike. Also too hard to get supplies or personnel in and out in covertly or in an emergency.”

Stark blinked.

“Okay. I’ll give you that one.”

Jeeze, thanks pal. Winter reminded himself, yet again, that he was a highly trained operative, and as such, he did not roll his eyes. At least not physically. Although refraining from doing so was getting harder.

Transferring his attention to Loki, Stark practically cooed, “Tell ya what, Lokes. Since we’re going to have to work closely together as _‘business partners’,_ as well as Avengers, how about I rent Asgard a floor in my tower.” Stark flicked a knowing grin at Barnes,receiving back an immediate murder glare. That affected Stark not at all, sadly.

“If you don’t mind smaller accommodations for the minions, you can use it as both your New York base and embassy, while you hunt for a non-volcanic lair that Shaggy here approves of. Secure, luxurious...” Tilting his head in what he no doubt thought was an endearing way, Stark spread his hands on his chest, and almost purred “...and best of all, _close to me_.”

_Why would we want a base that was volcanic?_

The more important question was, who in their right mind would want to live that close to Stark. And, as Winter was going to point out as long as it took to derail the idea, being in Stark Tower would subject them to unrelenting snooping attempts by the short little nosy parker.

OoooO

Rudy’s on 9th and 45th. It wasn’t much to look at, torn and taped bar stools, scuffed up wood, and a worn out floor, but the damn place was almost as old as he was, and best of all, if you weren’t in the mood to chat, the bartenders would make sure no one bothered you. Fortunately, unlike Steve, he could get, if not drunk, then at least tipsy, and much to Stark’s disgust, his healing factor guaranteed he wouldn’t even have to deal with a hangover. Which he supposed was at least a small mercy. At any rate, the place was a dump, but it completely suited his mood those times that his stupid eyes wanted to leak for no reason, and his chest felt like it was full of glass shards.

Rogers was killing him. His precious Bucky was fucking dead. Okay, so not really dead, but he’d been Soldat for three times as long as he’d been Bucky. It didn’t matter how many stories or pictures Rogers showed him, or how many puppy eyes the blond goof tossed his way, he was never going to be that guy again. Yeah, he was ‘learning’ more stuff that hadn’t been in his briefings but faint echoes were the only thing he had backing up that learning.

He knew they’d done the stuff he was being told, since Rogers wouldn’t lie to his best buddy, and Old Bucky sometimes provided actual glimpses. But he didn’t remember how it felt when him and Rogers were cheering for their favorite baseball team. And sure as fuck didn’t want to go see any more games to try and recapture the experience. As far as he was concerned, baseball was slow and boring, and the several games he’d allowed Rogers to guilt him into going to hadn’t changed his mind. Even if Stark had gotten them seats in the owners’ box, something he was pretty sure the bastard had only done to fuck with Winter.

And when Rogers’ pasted-on happy smile slipped, he looked like Winter had just kicked his puppy.

Then, too, he had Tony ‘ _Fucking_ ’ Stark yanking his chain by smirking at him while he tried to crawl all over the boss. Sometimes the temptation to break all the tiny little bastard’s fingers was almost overwhelming. Sadly, Loki had asked him not to, at least not without a better reason than Stark being an overbearing flirt.

Winter took another swallow of his drink, plonking it back on the bar, and he started plinking it with his fingernail, that being the only outward sign of his irritation he allowed. Granted, life had sucked more when he was a automaton assassin who was popsicled between missions or training sessions, but it was funny how the physical pain he’d experienced then had been sharp, and generally something his body could shrug off in a day or two. It was too much to say he’d trade that for the tension that never seemed to go away, because he wouldn’t. It had been a hell so bad that he’d welcomed being iced just for the down time. And now? Hell there was nothing, nothing he could ever imagine that would be worth giving up the life he currently enjoyed. He had all the money he needed; he lived if not like a king, at least like a king’s favorite assistant. He was contributing to the effort to save the goddamn world for crying out loud, which included just enough wet work to release the rage that built up, among other… things.  

Additionally, outside of the morons in Stark Tower, no one messed with him. At all, not for his past crimes, not for any reason. Those few that weren’t still afraid of him personally pissed themselves at the thought of bringing the boss’s wrath down upon their head. It had only taken a few assassination attempts, which he totally foiled, for people to learn that as bad as the Winter Soldier had been, Loki of Asgard was on an entirely different scale retribution wise. Turning people into a pillar of fire as they took a week to die tended to unnerve even the most determined organization.

The fact that the person who burned was the supposedly untouchable head of state who’d ordered the hit, might have helped. That was a level of protection which, no matter how much Rogers would have liked to provide it to him, he never would have been able to. And Loki did it without getting a single, gorgeous, glossy black lock of hair out of place. You could tell Loki had been raised as royalty. Winter sighed as a montage of images scrolled past his mind’s eye: Loki fighting with fluid, flowing moves, dressed to the nines and taking no shit off of anyone, wandering gracefully around their suite in the morning with unruly black curls, silky pants and a matching emerald robe unbelted and billowing behind him. The guy was like a jewel-toned viper, breathtaking beauty hiding a deadly strike.

_Could you just not?_

Fuck off asshole.

Emptying his glass, Winter rapped it on the bar before sliding it forward for a refill.  

OoooO

On Winter’s third visit to Rudy’s, with no warning whatsoever the barkeeper pulled a mini-baseball bat out from under the bar. Winter considered it a testament to how he was adapting to life with normal people who did crazy shit for stupid reasons, that he didn’t preemptively bury a knife in the guy's hand. He had one ready, mind you, because sometimes the stupid thing people did was try to attack him, pillars of fire notwithstanding. However, the new, more controlled Winter was able to wait and see if the supposed civilian was going to attack him. He didn’t; what he did do was smack the crap out of a gong hanging near the kitchen entrance, point the bat towards a middle aged man in a football jersey, and announce “Open dart challenge time people, sign-up with Rick here if you want to play.”

Using the reflection of the front window, Winter kept an occasional eye on the eclectic group of contestants all vying to win half of the nominal entry fee collected by the organizer and the honor of scrawling their name on a blackboard until the next week's winner replaced them. Apparently the recruiter of a local dart association was using this casual contest to introduce people to the idea of league play. And equally apparently, much to the organizer’s disgust, the tall bald guy wearing an EMT jacket was using it to fleece the amateurs. Or trying to. A tall doll he hadn’t seen before, wearing biker boots, and a seasonally inappropriate sundress, managed to just beat him.

Ignoring the EMT dude who settled at the bar beside her, she did accepted the offer to buy her a drink from the Rick the organizer.

“Scotch, please.”

“I thought you said your name was Missy,” EMT guy asked craning his neck to watch as she scrawled on the Weekly Winners Board before handing it back to the bartender.

Winter wasn’t the only one surprised when she drained her drink in one go. Catching him looking at her she winked before shrugging on a short leather jacket. Stuffing the small wad of cash she had won in its side a pocket she zipped it shut.   

“That’s right, sport, Miss Johnnie Walker.” Sliding off her stool, she offered the organizer a hand. “I had a great time.”

He smiled. “I’m glad. Stop by again, we meet the same time every week. And if you decide you want to join a team, I’m sure I can find one that would love to have you.”

“Thanks, if I can get free, I just might.”

Drawing wet circles on the bar, Winter wondered if he could interest Rick in starting a knife throwing league. Then he could drag Rogers to something that didn’t interest him.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taa-Dah! Thank you, Thank you. We'll be back next week, and please don't forget to comment your writer.


	17. Chapter 17 - Doomed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Loki isn't happy he spreads it around with a big shovel, and then uses that shovel to unearth a deal. Old Bucky proves quicker on the uptake than Winter. Steve is vexed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha! Funny thing, I just five minutes ago realized it was again Wednesday. I think I MAY be at the stage where I need a Days of the Week clock to hang on my wall. :D
> 
> Look! Commissioned Artwork by Hopeless--geek! [ Posing for the Paps ](https://rennemichaels.tumblr.com/post/177766296943/the-winter-wolf-chapter-17-doomed-when-loki)
> 
> Beta'd by the very patient [EmuSam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EmuSam/pseuds/EmuSam)

**Chapter 17 - Doomed**

When upset, Loki had a habit of making noises like a leaking tea kettle. A series of such noises, that he generally ignored when not ‘on duty’ finally caused Winter to look up from the Evil Overlord List that Lewis had sent him. He’d already ordered a coffee cup with ‘#17. When I employ people as advisors, I will occasionally listen to their advice’, and he was thinking of having posters printed up. But now was apparently, _not_ the time to contemplate frame styles.  Stark was no-show and the boss was in a complete snit. Winter, who as a rule, couldn’t have cared less if they ever saw the short braggart again, was also miffed at his lateness. It was not Stark’s job to wind up the boss.

_It’s your job._

Damn straight. But only when he’s totally got the wrong end of the stick.

_Or being really prissy._

Well yes, then too.

Still. It was never good to let Loki work himself up, he only thought he felt better when he made everyone else share his misery. Winter discretely palmed his phone, flicking open the text app. Beside, Winter wasn’t sure if he could spend another evening watching Loki and that damn bartender flyting. Hell, as much as he disliked Stark, he at least was more entertaining when mixing insults and come-ons.

_You just enjoy it because you like seeing Stark get shot down._

Well, yeah.

CruelWinter: _hey jp whats rogers n gang upto tday ?_

Jarvis, who seemed to have made it his mission in life to facilitate conversation between him and Rogers shot him back an answering text almost immediately.

JarvisPrime: _Captain Rogers is currently at the Hudson Yard; he, Mister Stark, and the others were called out on Avenger’s business twenty one minutes ago._

JarvisPrime: _Shall I have him contact you when he is finished?_

“He’s busy Avengering.”

Loki who had planted himself in front of the window, no doubt trying by force of will to make one of Stark’s ridiculous cars to appear in the drive below, scowled over his shoulder demanding, “What? Where? We should have been in the air already; he knows we have appointments in Brussels tomorrow.”

While Loki claimed his insistence on using mortal means of transportation was necessary to help him blend in, while not alarming Earth authorities. Winter was pretty sure it was mostly done to make others jump through hoops to get him somewhere in comfort if they wanted to talk to him. And not remind them how easily he could covertly travel quite a distance.

But he also claimed that reduction of psychic noise and planetary harmonics were relaxing. And while originally that had sounded like total bullshit to Winter, he’d seen how tension seemed to just melt off the guy the minute the plane leveled off.

CruelWinter: _Naw,  headed that way. warn them not to shoot boss this time_

OoooO

 

With flames to the right of them, and shattered concrete beneath them, Winter took a half step for balance before unracking his assault rifle. “Have I ever told you how much I hate when you ‘pop’ us places.”

“Only every other time we do it,” Loki replied, a knife already in each hand. “Oh look, the heralds are here with their cameras already. Time to shine.”

Almost worse than being popped through the nether regions of ‘The Great Tree’, was having to be properly photogenic.

_We do have a nice smile. And Stevie likes collecting all the pictures of us smiling._

Whatever.

Having given the news crews a suitably heroic pose upon their arrival, complete with the boss’s mandatory, ‘Happy to be of Service’ toothpaste ad smiles, Winter was now free to start casting around for targets.  Hopefully ones close to Stark.

 

OoooO  

“Loki of Asgard! Doom has no quarrel with you.”

“An ant has no quarrel with a boot, and yet it crushes him just the same.”

“Ant? Boot? You just had to go there didn’t you?”

If Winter actually cared what Stark though, he might wonder why he was interrupting the beginning of a fairly standard Power Posture monologue. Surely the guy knew that not to do that when his nibs was on a roll. It was, in Loki’s eyes, a grievous transgression which would be revenged. Although he had to admit you would never know it at the time. Bucky has seen the god more concerned with  the state of his finger nails.

“It’s a classic Stark, I could no more resist than this planet could stop turning.”

In a tone that indicated he was more than a little bit perturbed at having all the attention shifted from him, Von Doom proclaimed, “Doom is not afraid of a so-called god.”

Loki’s eyes lit with mischief, which in Winter’s opinion should have been a warning sign to everyone. But was as far as he was concerned, proof that Tin Can Guy #2 was every bit as clueless as Tin Can Guy #1. Although Winter will give Doom a bit of a pass on his color scheme, it was so much less garish than red and gold.

“Actually, Victor-- May I call you Victor?”

“You will address me as Doom!”

“Indeed. So, as I was saying, Victor, you may have no quarrel with me, but somehow organizations you _ally_ with keep targeting my Wolf. How much assistance do you give them in exchange for them helping you with your other little plans, I wonder? And of course there is the fact that these little excursions of yours do hinder projects needed to protect this planet, so that really leaves me no choice but to take you down.”

“Defeating a self-proclaimed godling, will be no harder than defeating those ineffectual buffoons that cower behind you.”

"Oh? Shall we lay a wager on the outcome? Or are you afraid you might lose? I will understand if you don’t want to, after all, you are only a mortal.”

“Loki! What are you doing?”  Roger’s voice over the comms was so sibilant they almost sounded like they were malfunctioning.

“Trying to stop an attack in the middle of a densely populated area of your city. Would you rather I not?” Loki replied nonchalantly. Upon receiving nothing in reply but an annoyed sputter from Rogers, because honestly what could the guy say to that, Loki returned his attention to the Armor clad idiot that wasn’t Howard Stark’s son.

“Victor Von Doom, Monarch of Latveria, I Loki, God of Mischief, hereby accept your challenge. If you win, I am of course dead, meaning Midgard will never come to realize that compared to a real mage, you are merely a hedge wizard. And, you will of course not have anyone who can stop you from acquiring my most prized minion, the Winter Wolf.”

“Not your minion,” Winter huffed under his breath. Thinking, for the hundredth time, that the possessive issues of a challenged Norse God could not seriously be overstated. Roger’s scream of outrage somewhere behind them was abruptly cut off.

“Hush.” Loki admonished Winter in a low voice, not moving his lips.

Cloak furling dramatically in the non-existent wind, which was a pretty good trick, Doom demanded, “And if by some miracle you defeat the mighty Doom?”

“Well, your death, of course. Which would mean you, and your _shoddy_ automatons wouldn’t be interrupting your betters anymore. Oh, and any property you possess, including your demesne lands.”

“I think not, Doom is no one’s inferior.” Doom’s voice boomed. “Nor will Doom will not wager his possessions for _your_ shoddily repaired paramour.”

Up to here with the boyfriend/whore comments, particularly since he wasn’t getting, or even wanting, anything from anyone, Winter whipped his assault rifle into position.

Without turning his head, Loki, shot out a hand and pushed the barrel down and shrugged.  

“Your loss. Very well, then instead of my wolf, you can have my staff, complete with an infinity stone from the dawn of creation.”

_We just stole that back from Hydra!_

Old Bucky was not the only one complaining. A loud outcry went up from the SHIELD peanut gallery as a long golden sickle shimmered into view. Barton’s displeasure being loud enough to be heard, despite his distance from them, both naturally and over the comm link.

Spinning the damn thing fast enough that the blue stone at the end of it made a glowing circle Loki continued. “Not that you will have any idea how to harness its immense power.” He smirked, putting the staff through a showy series of strikes, spins and stops. “But, surely, you’ve heard of it”

Still floating about ten feet up in the air, Doom arms crossed, gave both Winter and the Staff a quick once over, and declared, “Better, but still not enough. I will have both.”

“Fine.” Loki said, tossing hair back, in apparent disdain, totally ignoring the incoherent shout of rage from Rogers. “Yes. By all means. Both, if you think you can manage. But only under these terms, I will meet with you in five minutes in the Park Central. We, must remain within its boundaries for an hour, or the death of the other. Whichever comes first. And while they may not engage in the battle or help in any way, all of our minions must also remain within the designated border.”

“And the staff?”

“I won’t use it, if that is what you are afraid of. Winter will guard it while we battle.”

“Agreed.”

As Doom zoomed off, no doubt to lay a trap or two, Rogers stomped to stand in front of Loki shouting, “We aren’t supposed to kill the bad guys unless it just can’t be avoided.” A restriction that Winter thought as stupid as Loki did. After all, the guy was a logistical pain, always attacking when something else was planned for the day. With angry red splotches on his cheeks, Steve continued to rant, “And we definitely aren’t supposed to make deals with them that include **_Bucky_!** ”

“Oh lighten up Spangles, besides, I honestly doubt Doom will stick around if he starts to lose, and if he does, he deserves it. Every time he starts his shit it even if no one gets hurt or killed it makes for weeks of horrible traffic delays as the city tries to repair all the damage he caused.”

 _True,_ Old Bucky begrudgingly agreed. _And it wasn’t like the asshole was the least bit careful, he could damage Rudy’s or worst, the Peninsula Spa, and we already have a full-body exfoliation followed by a Himalayan crystal salt scrub scheduled._

Flipping up his visor to manually give Loki a once over, Stark said, “Umm, Loki. I thought you said you weren’t out for world domination anymore?”

_Wait? Demesne lands? Doesn’t doom own a country? That sounds like a lot harder to hide than just a lair._

Oh?

Oh!

“What!” Winter grabbed Loki’s arm and shook it. “Oh no you don’t! Running a country has gotta be a pain in the ass; the people living there will have issues that need taken care of. Hell, anyone would with Doom as their landlord.”

 _Of course,_ Old Bucky mused, _he could just pay that Potts woman to run it, and maybe do like the British used to, show up a couple of times a year for touristy stuff_.

“We are not running a country! We don’t have time!” Winter hissed at both Old Bucky _and_ Loki, before turning to snap at Stark. “Are you going go clear non-combatants out of the soon to be battle zone? Or are you just going to float there like the world’s ugliest party balloon?”

“Hey! Watch your mouth there pound-puppy, no diss’ing the suit. You aren’t hot enough to insult me and get away with it. But.. Yeah. Shooing away civilians. I can do that.

_You might also tell that cop standing over there to send help clearing the park and securing the perimeter._

Which wasn’t a bad idea, Winter pointed at the cop, “And you too! Get some people over there to clear the park.”

Stark paused a moment, “Um, Lo, if you could be extra careful of the Metropolitan Museum of Art… You remember, big fancy building with the William-Adolphe guy’s exhibition? If you could steer clear of it, that would be great, Pepper is scheduled to have a park improvement fundraiser there soon.”

“I will do my best. However, I will require a clear copy of this conversation, and the entirety of the battle.”

“Oh? And what’s in it for me to be your personal cinematographer?”

“A partnership in the development of an impervious building coating that syntheses sunlight into energy. While I don’t know all the technical details, I am familiar with the general concepts that allow it.”

Stark jerked his head back, and said with eyes as wide as saucers. “Oh. Okay. That will do.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “So? Civilians? Who need moved out of a soon-to-be battle zone? That gonna happen anytime soon?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who don't read the comments, the Youtuber that Winter was channeling is Sailor J. Darcy is a big fan of her Contouring 101 video and can recite it verbatim. Winter finds her a welcome change from all the cat videos she tries to show him... Although he does like cats mind you. He considers them tiny little killing machines that are incredibly graceful, and who don't at all remind him of someone else when they cop an attitude.


	18. Chapter 18 -Timber Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A walk in the park it was not. Winter is having a bad day, and communing with nature is not helping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I am distracted, and I don't see it getting any better until the November elections. At which time I will either be relieved, or sunk into depression. Anyhow, I am not thrilled with this chapter, but here it is warts and all. 
> 
> Beta'd by the very quick [EmuSam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EmuSam/pseuds/EmuSam)
> 
> If you haven't seen it already, please check out the great picture commissioned from @hopeless–geek for Chapter 17  
> [Smile for the nice news reporters](https://rennemichaels.tumblr.com/post/177766296943/the-winter-wolf-chapter-17-doomed-when-loki)

**Chapter 18 -Timber Time**

Fortunately for speed, unfortunately for Winter, Loki had a good idea of Central Park’s layout. So when Stark called, letting them know that they were getting the last of the civilians out and that Doom was standing on Umpire Rock, Loki knew where they had to go. Damn fucking shame he didn’t know exactly what Winter thought about him deciding to fight a that asshole Doom.

_Well it’s a good thing he doesn’t. You know how he feels about profanity. I don’t know about you, but I can’t take another ‘discourse’ on vulgarity and its correlation to decreased intelligence._

Shut the fuck up, asshole.

What the hell is Loki thinking, going in there without the rest of the Avengers as backup. And expecting Winter to just stand there and look pretty? As if. That wasn’t his goddamned job in this partnership.

Standing there, looking pensively at a coffee shop across the road as if he was actually pondering a quick order, completely unaware of Winter’s furious attempts at mind control, Loki asked, “Where are his metal minions?”

“Aw Lo, don’t call them that,” Stark begged over the phone. “They’re Doom-bots.”

“Stark.”

“Yeah, yeah. Bot location, I know. A few floating around Doom like a bevy of really ugly bridesmaids--” Loki quirked a brow at Winter, ignoring the white hot glare he received in return. “--and the rest are pretty much just dive bombing the cops as they hustle people out the nearest exit.”

“Thank you Stark. Remember, I need a good recording of my every interaction with Doom, so please don’t let yourself get distracted.”

“Yeah. I got that. But are you sure you want to do this? Alone? Even when all of us are fighting him Doom is a tricky pain in the ass. And honestly, I’d hate to have anything happen to yours.”

Winter could feel a vein start to throb

“I’m amazed that you never decided to become a poet Stark, what with the way you so skilfully blend words and sentiment.”

“What can I say? Your ass inspires me.”

Loki rolled his eyes, “Indeed? We will be there shortly, get ready.” Then tucking away his phone, he turned still pretending not to see how angry Winter was.

In fact Winter was so pissed, that ‘ _Assholes who put themselves in a situation where their damn bodyguard wasn’t allowed to help them_ ’ was definitely going to make the top twenty on his list no matter what he had to move down.

“--imperative that under no circumstance do you engage Doom. I have to be the one to kill--”

And with Loki ignoring him the way he was, Winter was fucking amazed that the intensity of his glare didn’t cause the god’s hair to spontaneously combust.

“--will be to protect the staff if his minions try to take it duri--.”

He wouldn’t be expecting a side kick. If I broke both his legs, not even he could heal quick enough to make it there before the hour was up.

Arm plates shifting in agitation Winter considered angles and consequences.

 _Attacking him wasn’t one of the fireable offenses. The jerk probably realizes that anyone who works for him is going to want to kill him at some point in time or another._  

Apparently, just now noticing that Winter was practically vibrating with anger Loki trailed off from whatever he’d been babbling about and regarded him with a small frown.

Winter wasn’t that much shorter than Loki, so there was really no reason for him to reach out and lift Winter’s chin, his voice became more conciliatory, as his expression softened to genuine concern. Winter’s glare became more incendiary.

“Winter,” he cajoled. “I don’t expect anything to go awry. Truly, I don’t… But, if some mishap does occur and Doom manages to win, don’t fight him. Banish your armor rather than surrender it to him and call for Heimdall. Not that I think it’s necessary; by now he is very aware that the staff has an Infinity Stone. Let Doom have it, he won’t keep it long. There is no way that the All Father will let the Stone, _or_ a Wolf of Asgard, no matter how created, remain in mortal hands.” His searching glance took in Winter’s skeptical glower. “My wager with Doom is that he should acquire something very powerful and something very precious; his ability to retain possession of either one of them is entirely out of the realm of possibility.”

The concerned green eyes that searched his face couldn’t help but notice the tight line of Winter’s lips, or the muscle jumping in his jaw. After a soft tap on Winter’s chin with his thumb, Loki dropped his hand with a sigh. “But, I can see you are in no mood to be mollified. Let us be off then.”

Damn fucking right I’m not.

OoooO

This time there was no posing for the cameras when they popped back into reality with a stomach dropping twist. Instead a flare of green light sprang up in the distance, at what Winter supposed was the boundary of the park. Whether the magic was Loki’s or Doom’s he couldn’t tell. It was goddamned green, and if there was a color shade difference between their magic, he hadn’t picked up on it yet.

~Crack~

“Winter!”

Less than ten feet away, with an explosion of splinters, the trunk of a chestnut oak burst apart. For a long moment, the huge tree remained upright, as if out of habit, before a green wisp tugged it towards them.

Definitely not Loki’s magic.

Snatching Loki’s scepter as it sailed towards him, Winter sprinted away from under the tumbling canopy, now he could put forward some speed when he needed to, but when a fully grown tree with a fifty to sixty-foot branch spread comes hurtling towards you, there is pretty much no escaping being hit by something.

By using both hands to hold the scepter above him as a shield, and collapsing under, rather than opposing the force of the blow upon it, Winter managed to avoid being struck with fatal force. Even if his face was scratched to hell, and back by the smaller branches whipping up and down as the tree settled.

“A foul so soon in our battle Doom?” He heard Loki call out, a silky, deadly voice note in his voice. Do you have any idea how many unpleasant ways to kill someone that I have knowledge of?”

Unable to see past the sea of leaves, Bucky squirmed out from under the branch partially pinning him to the ground as Loki continued, “Unless you want your death to be slow and lingering I’d advise you not to target my Wolf again.”

“Buck! Buck! You okay?!”

Oh Fuck _no_. He did not need Rogers in a panic, when he was already dealing with the Boss being a suicidal idiot, and at least two stories worth of tree limbs caging--

What the?!

Winter almost crushed the branch he was holding as the tree beneath him shifted from another nearby explosion,

“Buck! There’s some sort of field around the park, I can’t get back-- Hey!”

A thin whistling noise fading off to his left that culminated in a rough shout, and what sounded like metal armor scraping along concrete.

“Damn it Rogers, we talked about this.” Stark, clearly pissed, yelled over the comm before demanding, “Is Winter the one making you upset?”

“What? No! I’m just--”

“Off the air until this is settled. Sorry about that, Wolfie. Any further comments by Cap’n Spangles will be on a Jarvis delay filter until this is all over... Or Cap remembers that you’re a big scary murder machine, who is well able to take care of himself.” Stark paused a moment, “Um, you are okay, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. Fine,” Winter grunted, breaking a branch that was keeping him from moving upwards. “Except for a few scratches, and a whole lot of fucking tree to climb out from under.”

“There Rogers, just like I told you, he’s fine.”

The clench of anxiety Roger’s distress had caused dissipated, only to return as another nearby explosion again rocked the tree he was tangled in. This one lifted it far enough that the already damaged branch he’d been using for support broke, dumping him back down into a nest of face scratching, hair tangling twigs. A mild annoyance at worst, however, the one that whipped across his face almost taking out his left eye, that one concerned him.

_You have a helmet with a face shield. Could you fucking activate it? It isn’t your old face mask, so quit being a goddamned baby and at least wear it until you get out of this damn tree!_

And Old Bucky.

_You leap off of fucking buildings like it’s nothing, but you are still trying to get out from under this tree? What the hell is up with that?_

Who was in a mood.

_You could have dug a fucking tunnel underneath the damn thing by now!_

But wasn’t necessarily wrong.

Taking a deep breath Winter activated his helmet and swore that at the first opportunity he was going to stick a damn chainsaw in his weapon pouch incase this ever happened again.

“Stark, where are you?” Loki demanded somewhere off to Winter’s left. Not that he was going to go that way, the foliage seemed a bit thinner straight ahead.

“The funniest thing Lo, from the way it seems to be stretching from Doombot to Doombot, and the fact that once I’d passed through it, I couldn’t get back in, I’m guessing that this force field keeping us out, isn’t yours.”

“Stark!”

“Not to worry sweet cheeks. Before this stupid barrier sprang up, I’d already dropped a load of mini drones and they have excellent camera and mic setups. And Jarivs is quite the budding cinematographer.”

Pushing aside that last layer of leaves between him and open sky, Winter clambered up, pleased to realize that he was only had to navigate about fifteen more feet to get to an edge so he could drop down to the grass.  

He was not so pleased when the fucking staff slipped from where he’d wedged it and started sliding, Lunging towards it, he managed to get close enough to touch it, when his movement caused the branch he was standing on to dip. That wasn’t a problem, it was the sudden jerk on the branch he was using to steady himself that removed the support from the fancy end of the staff, which caused the damned thing to slip out from under his grasping hand and slither straight down.

Jesus-Mother-Mary-Joseph-Damn!

He tried to reach for it as it slid into the tangle of branches, lost his footing, crushed the branch he’d grabbed for support, slipped, and the tree limb that had been holding his not inconsiderable weight bounced up and--

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!

Winter saw stars. Planets. And five galaxies being born.

While his armor would hold up under your run-of-the-mill nut-shot, the whole squat, slide, straddle as one foot found momentary footing before sliding off, dropping all his weight down, just as the branch expended all its upward momentum with a force that was more than would have seemed possible…

Unable to focus, and sick with nausea, Winter tasted bile. Or perhaps pulverized reproductive organs.

It wasn’t like he’d never taken a shot to the nuts before, but fucking hell, never from this angle, or with this much force.

The ability to breathe was something that was entirely taken for granted.

He was not a slim metal rod, so he did not fall deep down into the leafy depths. Instead, in the aftermath of nature’s assault on his nether regions he ended up cracking his helmet on another branch, and draped about a body length down from where he’d been moments before. There was a bit of babbling in his ear piece as he lay there for several long moments, his one knee hooked over the nutcracker, while he gazed groggily up the tiny patch of sky visible from through the distant break in the leaves.

Bird song faded in and out, occasionally drowning out queries from Jarvis and Stark, and the hissing curses of the boss. Who was fighting somewhere. Close by. Probably.

Eyes losing focus, Winter’s mind skittered off on a very odd tangent, distanced itself from the pain by imagining more pleasant topics… Somewhere close he was sure Pretty Boy was moving like a dancer, all effortless strength that flowed gracefully from one deadly point to another. Soldat might have been a bit more impressed with Loki’s knife tosses, transfers and lunges, than he was, but Winter’s admiration encompassed more than the god’s technical skills… elegance, rigidly controlled power, the knowing sparkle that lit up gorgeous green eyes, the smile that showcased incomparable cheekbones,  a jawline that would make angels weep...

_That’s not birdsong._

Huh?

_You aren’t hearing birdsong._

Oh?

Breaking off his cataloguing of Pretty Boy’s fine, fine features… Before he had even made it to the guy’s lean sculpted belly, or the ass that so attracted Stark, Winter, muzzily made a few half-hearted attempts to reach the trigger that manually opened his helmet.

Chimes?   

_Not chimes either. You just got your clock cleaned by a tree for crying out loud. Now get up will you?_

Wha--

_You got your clock cleaned, now it is time to get up._

Double standard there pal, Winter retorted finally pressing the right way to get his helmet to open. When something’s good, it’s _we_ , when it is bad or embarrassing it’s _you_.

...

Ha! That shut Old Bucky up. Now if he could just figure out a way to get Jarvis and Stark to put a lid on it.

Winter gingerly worked his way off the nutcracker branch, and now using both hands for support, stood up. Dizzy, but willing, he blinked a few times to clear his vision, and slowly, so as not to trigger a gag response, looked down trying to see exactly where that damn staff has disappeared to.

_Leave it._

Sadly, no can do. I’m supposed to guard it.

_No. You were suppose to protect it from that Doom idiot’s flying robots. This tree has already taken you out, it can protect the damn thing until the fight is over. Besides, if Loki loses--_

Don’t.

_\--If Loki loses, while Doom is recovering the staff, you might be able to make a break for it. Or at least see if Heimdall can retrieve you._

Which was actually good advice, and not just because Winter wasn’t looking forward to going another round with a damn assassin-eating oak tree.

_And if Loki wins, just bat your blues and give him a sheepish grin, he’ll have Stark hoist the damn tree up and shake it before your Trash Can Man knows what’s hit him._

And some not so good advice. If Old Bucky was going to be a jerk, then maybe he wasn’t going to invite Rogers to join him for darts this Tuesday. Provided he was still alive or on Earth that was.

The calliope of sound in his earpiece suddenly muted and became one insistent voice.

“Sergeant Barnes, after that rather odd noise you made, I really do need to get assurances that you are okay. Certain parties are becoming insistent that you verify your wellbeing.”

Noise?

“Noise?”

“Yes, sir. It was a combination of quite a ghastly squeak morphing into a fairly painful sounding groan that went on for a very long moment. Might I enquire as to your present state of health?”

“Good. Um, I’m good. Just a slip.” If it wouldn’t have hurt to roll his eyes, Winter would have already done it twice.

Still, indulging himself was not a good habit to get into, so Winter resolutely took deep, controlled breaths and concentrated on the areas of his body that weren’t experiencing any pain, until he could convinced his brain to ignore the ones that were. And apparently he was out of practice; previously he’d been able to achieve this state almost without thought, this time he really had to concentrate. A downside to months without being repeatedly hurt, but one he was honestly okay with.

_You planning on climbing down out of here anytime soon?_

Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.

A short time later, after gingerly lowering himself to the ground--

_From a height that you normally would have leapt down from with no problem._

\--Winter located Loki and Doom still blasting away at each other. Both looking a bit singed, but at least Loki seemed okay, baring his hair being a bit wild. Hoping that Doom would be mortally wounded and would drop dead in short order, Bucky peered at the distant robots along the perimeter of the park, and tapped his ear bud.

“Stark. Give me some good news and tell me you have your drones watching more than just the fight.”

“Oh hey. Look who's decided to rejoin the party.

“The drones Stark, are they keeping an eye on those bot things too?”

“You know it.”

“Good, what is--”

“As a matter of fact, I also happen to have a high fidelity vid of you going all deer-in-the-headlights, shrieking in a very manly and remarkably restrained manner, kudos on that by the way, then doubling over in agony moments before a tree appeared to swallow you. I’m thinking about posting it up on YouTube.”

_Fuck what your precious Loki wants, we need to kill that jerk. Or at least kneecap him._

Again, tempting as it may be to consider, we’ve talked about this.

_Why not, it might be a good way to find out how important he is really is. If Loki really gives a shit about Stark, he’ll heal him. If not, well, he’ll at least be out of our way for a while._

Focusing, Winter managed to command his helmet to fold away, giving him better peripheral vision as he trotted closer to Rat Rock, where Loki firing bolts of green up at Doom.   

“Look, if that’s what it takes to make you feel better about yourself Stark, go ahead. But if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, do you think you or Jarvis could give me a heads up if they start moving, I want to keep my eyes on the boss.”

“Sure, no prob-- Oh shit!”

Winter could just make out Loki leaping gracefully to one side to avoid a searingly bright blast. Red flames skipped and sizzled across Rat Rock like water on a hot skillet for the merest moment, before flames, dirt, and huge fragments of rock shot high into the air.  The shallowly grassed bedrock that made up this section of Central Park shook beneath Winter’s feet. 

Screaming curses, Loki lost his footing as more jets of white hot flame shot even larger boulders up all around the enormous granite outcropping, which was itself bucking up and down with a tortured roar normally reserved for avalanches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And for those who don't read the comments, the YouTuber that Darcy is so fond of, and Winter was channeling is Salior J. They love her Contouring 101 Video.


	19. Chapter 19 - The World Falls Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter's day is just not getting any better. Stark's chatter isn't helping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Yes I know it is short. And no doubt full of errors since I didn't get it done in time to be Beta'd. (Feel free to point out errors.) But it was this... or wait a week.
> 
> Update!!! Beta'd by the very patient with my last minute bullshit [EmuSam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EmuSam/pseuds/EmuSam)

**Chapter 19 - The World Falls Down**  

Horrified, Winter stared as curtains of flame and rock erupted high into the air. Holding a hand up to protect his eyes from the glare, his other dove towards his equipment pouch for dark goggles, almost forgetting that he had a fucking full face helmet chock full of automatically reacting lenses.  

Which deployed just as the roar of the flame abruptly cut off, revealing the absence of one Norse God and a rock outcrop that had been in place since the end of the last ice age. Worse even, where Rat Rock had once been was now an enormous crater. One that was completely devoid of Norse God.

Frozen in place, he looked up at the tightly concentrated mass of debris and boulders hanging high in the sky, seemingly waiting for gravity to notice them.

“Fucking hell, Winter! It’s gonna bury you if you don’t move!” Stark screamed over the comm as the grit and small pebbles that had almost been suspended in the air a moment ago, slowly being drifting back to earth.

Fuck!

_Tree?_

Tree! 

Spinning around Winter sprinted back to the nearest shelter, that being the assassin-attacking oak tree that he’d just recently escaped from. It wasn’t much shelter, but if he could burrow deep enough it would be better than nothing.

Fuck the combat boots, if he lived through this he was going to swear by sneakers.

With Stark and Jarvis screaming in his ear and his armor pinging like a car caught in a hail storm, Winter dove towards the trunk of the downed tree he’d struggled so hard to escape from. Wedging himself up within the two thickest limbs at the base of the canopy, Winter activated his helmet and then held on as dust filled the air and stone from marble to refrigerator sized rained down on this small section of Central Park, causing both the earth and the tree he was sheltered in to begin to bounce and shake.

_Doom destroyed Rat Rock! Stevie and I used to come here all the time._

At any moment now, a sufficiently large rock might smash him flat, the guy protecting him from lifelong incarceration, hiding or execution might be dead, some Hydra-helping, magic robot-creating asshole might try to take possession of him, or he might end up spending the rest of his life, alone, living in Asgard working for the real Odin, who he was pretty sure was not a fun guy. All of this looming over him and fucking Old Bucky was miffed because somewhere that he and _Stevie_ used to pal around at during the old days was gone.

Seething, Winter made a mental note to research if it would be possible to get rid of Old _fucking_ Bucky by using a rusty spoon to perform a do-it-yourself lobotomy.

After one bus sized chunk of rock buried itself not far from where Winter was sheltered, almost shaking him out of his perch, the deluge of smaller debris filtered down for approximately an eternity and a half before stopping. Or at least it had seemed that long with him backing and forth-ing with Stark the entire time.

“Stark’s where’s the boss?” he asked for the millionth time, climbing out from the main trunk of the tree, much less a chore than moving through a damn boatload of branches.

“For the fifth time, Wolfgang, when I see him you’ll be the first to know.”

“How the hell could you lose him!” Winter didn’t shriek. He was an extensively trained assassin and he never shrieked. “Don’t you have camera’s working?”  

_Except you just did bub. Shriek, that is._

“Ow. Down boy, no bark. Did I not five minutes ago ask you to use your inside voice. Well okay, you aren’t inside, I get that. And yes, it was when a mountain was showering down around you, but still.”

“STARK!”

“Yeah, okay, okay. Cameras. Yes, I still have some, not as many as I had ten minutes ago, and no, I do not know where Sweet Cheeks is.” Stark said, clearly a bit testy at being questioned, or losing track of his source of otherworldly innovation.

_Or desire._

Just stop, will ya. I don’t have time for Stark’s mouth, let alone yours.   

“Okay, then where’s Doom? Please tell me you’re keeping an eye on him.”

“Of course I am. He’s currently taking a victory lap. I think it’s a mistake, but hey, whatever works for him.”

Eyes narrowed against the dust that was still hanging in the air, Winter scanned the skies just in case Doom slipped past Stark somehow. Winter was not, as a general rule, incredibly impressed with Iron Man’s tactical reading skills; he suspected that most of his field reading insights came from Jarv-- What the hell?

Slightly to the left of center, in what had previously been a rock outcropping the size of a main battalion fire station, there was nothing but piles of rock, rubble and… And quite the number of Doom bots circling a few of their brethren that were scrabling at a scrap of dusty green leather that was poking out from under the jumbled rocks.

“Holy shit! Oh my god! Stark! Stark! Get you tin can ass in here right now!”

Ignoring Stark’s lame-assed excuses of why he couldn’t genius his way around Doom’s force field, and relying on his own peripheral vision to keep him from being blindsided by the mass of swirling robots, Winter leaped forward, pulling his ray gun out its assigned magic pouch and setting about disintegrating as many of them as he could. With, as he’d hoped, Jarvis chiming in on anyone trying to come up from behind him.

It seemed like it was taking forever, and he was frankly amazed that Doom hadn’t stopped by to monologue by the time he’d cleared out all the bots, and was able to make his way to the spot where the god was buried. Holstering his ray gun to his belt, and hoping he wasn’t adding more weight to a bad spot for the god, he began digging.

“Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead,” Winter begged, tossing the larger rocks and broken bits of robot as far away as he could. Using his metal hand, he swept back the gravel trying to fall into the hole he’d cleared around the scrap, which ominously, seemed to be going straight down.

Crap. Crap. Crap. _Crap_. **_Crap_**. That did not bode well. Winter had been buried under rubble before, or rather the structure he’d partially collapsed on top himself had been buried under rubble. The only reason he’d been able to make it out was that he'd had a cavity behind him he could use to shove the stone towards as he’d cleared a path out. So, unless there were some large flat slabs-- which he doubted, seeing as everything visible was boulder-looking, that wasn’t an option here. This was not happening. He had a life now. He had things to do that didn’t involve sadistic bastards with cigarettes telling him to stand still. He had a damn date Tuesday. Granted Johnnie didn’t know about it, and might not even be there that night but still. If Rogers could claim to be dating the waitress who brought him his damn coffee, then Winter could call watching some doll shooting darts a date if he wanted to.

The main thing was Winter had several things to do every week that were a damn sight more satisfying than completing his missions in a manner that would allow him to return to the tank without being punished. Not to mention he had a damn job. A real one. What the fuck was he going to do with himself if he didn’t have to ride herd on Pretty Boy? And what about the god? Left to his own devices, Loki pissed people off, left, right and center. He needed someone, who wasn’t named Stark had to keep an eye on his back.      

“You fucking better not be dead you asshole. If you are, I’ll find a way to bring you back just so I can kill you myself,” he growled under his breath, moving a large flat piece of rock and exposing enough leather to see that it was the tip of one of the Loki’s back coat tails. “If you fucking die, who do I have? Nobody! I’ve spent sixty-seven goddamned years without anyone to depend on, don’t you dare leave me.”

“Winter! Incoming!” Stark yelled. Still hovering safety on the outside edge of the park, fine fucking genius he turned out to be. Ray gun unholstered, Winter spun, crouching down into the hole for what little side cover it afforded him, and fired. Taking out stupid bots and hissing as hot shrapnel from one that had gotten way to close peppered down upon him, he called for a position update.

“He appears to be scanning the lower end of the park, if he keeps up this pattern, you have maybe ten minutes,” Stark said.

As strong as he was, as motivated as he was, there was a fucking lot of rock for one person to move, and even if he did, find Loki in time, how would he get him out of the damn park? Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Shoving his ray gun under his belt, so he could return to frantic digging, Winter tipped his face to the sky and screamed, “Heimdal! Tell Thor to get his ass down here right now!”  He repeated his demand not a minute later after a particularly nasty gravel slide that threatened to trap him chest deep in the hole he’d dug.

“Bucky. Bucky! Stop. You gotta get out of there; Doom could be back any minute.”

With blue fire practically spitting from his eyes, Winter glared up at the little StarkDrone that had been circling him. “My name’s not Bucky _Fucking_ Barnes! And it isn’t alright. How the hell can it be right, the stupid bastard’s buried under a ton of goddamn rock! Not that any of you fucking care.”

“Hey!” Stark cut in, interrupting whatever inane comment Rogers had been going to piss Winter off with next. “Look, Winter, I’ve tried everything I can think of. Wavelength tuning, lasers, hell you can’t even blast your way under this damn thing. And trust me, the Park Commission is going be miffed when they see the hole I made trying. But never mind that-- I’m telling you he’ll be fine.” Stark said in what he no doubt thought was a bracing manner, “You probably don’t know, but the guy fell off a planet once and lived.”

“I do know,” Winter retorted, heaving another rock up onto his shoulder so he could toss it up out of the hole. “We fight about what a stupid stunt that was all the time.”

“Wait. You argue with him?”

“Of course I argue with him, Stark, much like today, I am daily confronted by evidence of his stupidity.” Winter snapped. Not that it does me any goddamn good, he thought sourly.

“Oh.”

Winter’s comm went blessedly silent as he continued to widen the hole to stabilize the sides. When he resumed, Stark’s voice had almost a meditative quality. “You know, this is an open comm, he can most likely hear you. Well, unless his earbud was knocked out from the blast.”

“So? Most days we’re lucky to make it through lunch without me telling him that or something less polite.

“Okay. But just to verify, does he know you call him a dumb shit? I mean, obviously he may know now, because open comm, but--”

“Only every other god damn day.”

“Oh.” Tony said again, sounding dumbfounded. “How? I said that to him once and he almost put me through another window.”

“When you say it, you’re being insulting, when I say it, it's the simple truth.” Having removed the bigger rocks, Winter knelt down and scooped more gravel from around the long, torn scrap of leather coat, horrified when it pulled loose from the rocks, not at all connected to an Asgardian prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Encouragement? Yeah, that could work. :D Motivation is lacking for reasons having to do with me distracted by, but ignoring the new art program I got. So any motivation you could spare would be welcome.


	20. Chapter 20 - Shoot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony does a really bad job of being comforting, and possibly Winter's job description need to be refined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's late you say. It's not beta'd you say. It's too short you say. Valid complaints all, I'm not gonna lie. 
> 
> RL and being sent late to the my dear Emu Sam account for the first two. And as for the last... for some reason my concentration is shot lately and this is as best I can manage despite 'trying' to beaver away at it diligently. My bad.
> 
> And it is Beta'd now. Many thanks to the Wonderful EmuSam!

**Chapter 20 - Shoot**

If he hadn’t already been kneeling, Winter definitely would have fallen. Hell, it was all he could to not start howling.

“Okay. Well, I’m gonna admit that looks bad.”

What the--?

Looking up Winter saw a small hummingbird-sized drone above him, he glared at it as Stark continued.

“And yes, I am worried, because honestly, with the way Doom is bad mouthing him, I’d have expected Loki to be lobbing magic bolts or curses or something by now.” A deep sigh issued from Winter’s ear comm. “However, from talking to Thor, and shit Loki himself has let slip, I did get the impression the guy is almost impossible to kill. Well, permanently, anyway. Apparently as a youngster on a bet, he charmed the Norns and they refuse to tie off his life thread or some such shit.”

Loki, the guy that pulled him out of the Hydra hell hole could be--

_Most likely was._

\--dead. Winter’s new life, could be over just as it was getting started, and Stark was yammering on about… thread?   

“Or maybe, they kept adding fibre to his spindle. It was kind of confusing; Bolt Boy understands spinning because Space-Mom does it, but coherent explanations are not Thor’s strong suit. Whatever, it all boils down to some mystical old Nanas think he’s too adorable to die. Go figure.”

Rising levels of internal static drowned out all external sound as the rocks in front of him sprang into a focus so sharp it was almost physically painful. Every single angle of stone detailed in high resolution, each grain of rock dust clearly distinct from the ones beside it. It only took one more tiny bit effort, coupled with focusing on a long breath out, for time to stop so Winter could step outside himself, away from all distraction into perfect, crystalline clarity.

Separated from the distraction of human flesh and emotions his first action was to check the deep blue sky above him for threats.

CLEAR

He then observed his immediate surroundings. In order to keep the wall of rocks from rolling inwards, the Winter-unit had cleared a remarkably large area attempting to retrieve his focal point. That he wanted to continue his search was clearly apparent by the unit’s lamenting of even a second of delay to assess the situation. Clearly the Winter-unit’s thought process was compromised and would have to be assessed accordingly

The Soldat-Unit was of the opinion, despite orders to the contrary, that retrieving what was theirs would be quicker if they immediately killed the person preventing the application of more manpower. Agreement by the Bucky-unit not applicable in mission only decision.

CONFLICT RESOLVED

The Winter-Unit will acquiesce to hunt and kill as immediate priority. Non-participation Order conflict nullified to prevent failure of protection imperative and latitude permitted by allowed by the Want Protocol. Soldat-unit will lead until target is dead. A distant spike of fear prompted a clarification to the imperative.

After which control will immediately transfer to the Winter-unit.

OoooO

With the order of control resolved, self-reintegration occurred. Soldat charged out of the rocky pit in time to see Doom stepping down onto the flatter section of loose rock. A flotilla of attendant bots took up protective stations above him.

“Well, if nothing else you appear loyal. Low-tech perhaps, but there may be something that can be learned from you.”

Slowly side-stepping so as not to provoke an immediate attack, Soldat palmed a knife and turned his body so Doom wouldn’t see him reaching for his Skorpion; it might not be an instant kill, but it should buy him time bring the Necro2 into play. Obviously watching his target intently, he noticed a slight heat-like wavering in the air behind him, just before long fingers snaked, lighting fast to grab the side of Doom’s head and wrench it sharply to the left. Long experience with sound of cracking neck bones would have let him know that Doom’s neck was broken, even without seeing how far past the shoulder the man’s head had been twisted. Helmet stops were not any help against Loki’s far more than human strength. However, since breaking someone's neck wasn’t immediately fatal, despite what the movies would have people believe. It wasn’t until after Loki had spun Doom into the patch of a long blade, so wickedly sharp that it slid through the metal neck guard and separated Doom’s head from his body that Winter regained control of self.

Almost without conscious thought, he whipped his pistol up and shot Loki.  

 

OoooO

 

 _What the hell!_ Horrified, Old Bucky shouts reverberated around his skull, _You just shot the Boss._

Which, after all he’d been through the past hour of so, just made Winter madder. So? Bastard deserved it, scaring me like that. Besides, what do you care, you don’t like him anyhow.

_Well no, I mean, yes, well, but-- Bloody hell! That doesn’t mean I wanted you to shoot him._

“What the hell?! You’re shooting him?” Stark was incredulous. “Five minutes ago you were begging him not to be dead. Lo, sweetie, why is your asshole minion shooting you?”

 “Shut it Stark.” Winter stalked over, shoving Doom’s headless body aside with his foot until he could stand in front of Loki.  

“You know what?” Stark said, “the force barrier is down, why don’t you two just chat, we’ll take care of the rest of the Doom-bots. That sound like a plan?”

“What. Did you think. You were doing?” Winter demanded.

“Winning a lair worthy of us?” Loki answered, wiping his bloody knife off on a pant leg before vanishing it. He sounded more than a little confused, possibly at the question, but more likely at the blood leaking from the side of his torso, since that was what he addressed next. “Winter, I honestly didn’t think your contract had to spell out a prohibition against shooting me. Does this need to be added? Or can you assure me that this is a one-time occurrence brought on by stress?”

Growling, he brought his other hand up until the blade clenched in it pressed against the underside of Loki’s chin. “Wouldn’t a mountain in upstate New York have worked?”

Maintaining eye contact, and having to tug a more than a little bit, Loki pulled his knife and said in a chiding tone, “My wolf, I hardly think the Midgardian authorities would look kindly on my carving a principality out of the state of New York. Understandably so, I might add. Now tell me, why are you so upset.”

“You could have been killed.”

“A distant possibility, but I will concede a slight chance yes.”

“You let me think you were dead.”

“Merely a ruse to get Doom to come out of the sky. While not extensively skilled in seiðr, his energy shields were quite formidable.”

“I thought you died and left me all alone!”

“Why…” The god faltered, his face clouding for the first time that Winter can recall. Loki peered questioningly at him. “Captain Rogers?”

“No!” That he’d managed to keep this from coming out as at a howl was a major damn miracle. “I keep telling you, Rogers, doesn’t see _me_. Rogers is looking for Bucky Fucking Barnes, and I’m not him! I’m never going to be him, I don’t _want_ to be him, I want to be _me!_ ”

“Ah.”

“And I fucking don’t ** _want_** to be alone!”

 

OoooO

Brows knit, Loki spent several long moments studying him, his eyes intently searching Winter’s face as if trying to divine the thoughts behind. Good luck with that; Winter wasn’t even sure what he thought half the time.

“Umm. Guys? We got a cleanup crew due here any minute to keep the bot parts out of the wrong hands, and the camera vermin will follow right behind them.”

Winter could distantly hear a shout of, “Tony!” Steve was apparently still being blocked from Winter’s comm channel.

“Fine. It won’t be long before the news crews and the paparazzi vermin get here. Is that better? Anyhow,

I’m keeping him away, but Spangles is kinda freaking out a little over the thought of any of them getting a shot of Lo-Luscious carrying Doom’s head around like a football. Not that I blame Stars and Stripes, public relations peeps can get pretty vicious.”  

With the hand not holding the severed head, Loki reached up and patted Winter’s shoulder, paused a moment as his already searching gaze upon Winter intensified, and then without warning, he pulled Winter into a one-armed hug. Beating back Soldat instincts to find an armor chink to slip his knife in,  triggered no doubt by the unexpected contact, Winter froze for an instant, immobilized by the realization that this was the first time in _his_ life, that he’d ever received physical comfort. Chasing a faint scent threading through the sharp copper tang blood, he followed it until his nose was practically buried beneath the hair at the nape of Loki’s neck. For some reason the smell of fresh snow at dawn smelled like home.

He’d most likely have stood there for the rest of the day if Rogers hadn’t come over to make sure Loki tidied up Doom’s corpse before the camera crews arrived.

 

OoooO

Thanks to the emergency kit stored in his magic make-up pouches, Winter had just finished tying off the cords holding a Mylar blanket around Doom’s head and body when a bright light and a roar reminiscent of the outcrop destroying light show they’d so recently survived burnt a complicated knot pattern in one of the few sections of undamaged grass in this section of the park. In the center of it was one blond space Viking. The light snapped back to the heavens with an audible crack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you ever wondered what I think AU Helblindi Ymirson looks like, check out the very quick maip I did of him for Art for Stars Hide Your Fire. The link is listed in my works.


	21. Chapter 21 - Thor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor hath arrived. Big Whoop. Darcy is a bit of a barnacle. There are certain things a man's man should not do... And no this is not in reference to clear coated fingernails. Those are perfectly lovely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are only getting this now, thanks to [EmuSam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EmuSam/pseuds/EmuSam) She worked the second half with like a three day turn around. ALL HAIL EMU SAM!

**Chapter 21 - Thor**

The moment he caught sight of Thor, Loki did an excellent imitation of a territorial cat confronting a dog that should not be there. You could almost see his hackles rising as his eyes narrowed to slits of emerald fire. “What is he doing here?” Loki hissed, again acting in a manner most cat-like. Winter was uneasily reminded that A. Thor was here because he’d called for him, and B. Pretty Boy was almost as good as Winter was with a knife, so the claws could also come out at any moment.

_Your ‘cat’ is also over six feet tall and could bench press a Buick. And since you were the one who called Asgard, you might want to take a few steps back, just to be safe._

Possibly good advice… possibly.

Deciding to get it over with, Winter shrugged. “I called in reinforcements. I figured a space punching bridge would get through Doom’s shield, and it might have worked if they weren’t so damn slow.”

Loki’s voice took on a dangerous growl, “You do not make decisions like that. You--”

And yeah, that pissed him off. He could do what he **_wanted_** , it was in his goddamn contract. Standing toe to toe with his now enraged Asgardian, he growled right back, “Bull shit, I’m your goddamned body guard. It’s my job to guard your body, and the important part of that job is knowing when reinforcements need to be called. Particularly when the backup _you_ were relying on got their asses sidelined.”

“You shot me,” Loki hissed. However, as frantic as Winter had been, faced with the prospect of a damn mountain of stone to search through, he was not the least bit sorry he’d called for help. Honestly? He’d do it again in a heartbeat, with the addition of demanding that Asgard get off their ass and shake a leg. On this topic at least, as Darcy would have put it, Winter had no fucks to give.

“So?”  

Ignoring all the commotion going on around them as the Avengers took out the last few Doom Bots, Loki folded one arm across his chest, as he rubbed a temple with two fingers of his other hand. With a final rapid temple massage that had more to do with irritation than pain relief he twisted that hand in a ‘Stop’ position, even though Winter had no intention of saying anything he didn’t have to.

“Winter,” with eyes radiating anger, and jaw clenched hard, Loki voice was a dangerous blend of heavy sarcasm mixed with a feral snarl. “I do realize that you are new to this profession, _however_ I think we do need to clarify that the main difference between an assassin and a bodyguard, _is_ that the latter doesn’t normally shoot the person they are protecting. Putting a bullet hole in someone is the diametric opposite of protection!”

Highly trained assassins who are apparently lacking in the bodyguard department did not flip off their boss. Driven to it however by bosses who are clueless, they did glare through their bangs and snap, “You pissed me off, okay? Besides, it was a fucking object lesson.”

“How so?” Loki retorted, crowding closer.

“I _object_ to you trying to get yourself killed, you selfish bastard.”

Completely ignoring whoever else was on the comm, or his brother heading towards them, and in defiance of their similar heights, Loki somehow loomed over him, their bodies almost touching.   

 _You know what I said earlier about not worrying about that damn scepter? Now might be a good time to start batting those baby blues. Oh,_ a memory fragment of Old Bucky practicing puppy dog eyes in a small spotted mirror was fired Winter’s way.

Fuck puppy dog eyes. Winter decided to go with a murder stare and drop his voice down a few registers.

“Look, _Pretty Boy_ , I **_wanted_** all the help I could get to try to find you. And since I am allowed to **_want_** , you need to get the stick out of your--”

 _This expression even worked on Sister Angelica-Louise, you might want to use it. Right now in fact!_ Old Bucky hastily pressed a memory on him.

“You _dare--_ ” Loki hissed, before Winter rode right over him and retorted. “I more than dare, you ever pull another stunt like that again, you better give me some kind of a heads up, or I’ll do it quicker the next time.”

“Loki, brother, do not blame your--” Loki’s head snapped to the side as he narrowed eyes at Thor.

Winter had seen people in a cold rage before, but he would be willing to swear that the arctic glare Loki shot at Thor was so frigid that it actually lowered the temperature of the air around them to the point of goose bumps accompanied by the metallic taste of a bitter cold wind.  

Using the external stereo speakers he had built into his suit, Stark called out, “Yo! Thor! It’s been a rough day, and some of us have been looking forward to listening to Lokmeister go crazy cakes on his boyfriend. Don’t spoil it for us.”

“Not his boyfriend, asshole.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Whatever.”

Banner, no doubt taking up the slack for Rogers, chimed in. “Geeze Tony. Give it a rest will ya.”

“Fine. Ruin all my fun,” Stark grumbled in the comm as he spiraled towards the north end of the park. “Damn, spoilsports. You’re paying for your own pizza tonight.”

Thor, who had wavered back and forth between them and Stark like someone watching a badminton match, turned away from the retreating Stark and regarded his brother with a rueful half smile, completely uncaring that he was courting fatal frostbite.

“To be honest, I was hesitant to come, thinking it another one of your tricks.” Thor’s voice switched to a high falsetto, “Thor! Help! I’m stuck and I can’t get down.” He then dropped into his normal register and said, “And, after luring me further up the tree than we were ever supposed to go, you always scrambled down right before Mother or a guard saw us.”

Despite Loki’s and an angry huff, Winter noticed a tiny, self-satisfied smirk creasing the corners of Pretty Boy’s mouth.

_Do you have to call him that?_

What? You don’t notice? He is very pretty, particularly when he’s pissed. Who wouldn’t be attracted to those flashing eyes, that heaving chest, that fine play of muscles in that good looking jaw of his? Winter hid a grin of his own at the appalled disgust rolling off Old Bucky.

“And don’t get me started about how many court appearances I had to attend filthy once you learned how to use illusions to cover conveniently spilled wine in the halls, or mud puddles where none should ever have been. Lady Rindr still complains about how I tracked dirt into the Great Hall right before the Ljósálfar envoys arrived.”

And okay, the sparks stopped flashing in Loki’s eyes, and his smile widened just enough that Winter decided to just enjoy the show, and tuck the puppy dogs eyes away for another day.

Fortunately, before the siblings could fall back into their habit of yelling at it other, it occurred to Loki that he while he hadn’t needed help dealing with Doom, there were a few things Thor could be tasked with.

**OoooO**

Over his strident objections, without even being allowed to attend the post battle _feast,_ Thor was waved off toward Asgard with a hastily scribbled list of things to do, and to get.

“But Loki--”

“Thor, whining like an overtired youngling is unbecoming a Prince of Asgard, just go. If you're that hungry, I am sure one of the kitchen maids will fix you up a nice tray. Time is of the essence, you know, and besides, it isn’t like you did any of the battling, so you are not being unduly deprived. And no, you aren’t allowed to step foot on my new estate until the investiture ceremony, so you might as well stay in Asgard until your invitation arrives.”

“But you will invite me?”

“You have my solemn word upon it. Now go.”

Their eyes had no sooner stopped watering from the glare of the Bifrost, when Bran and Lodmund arrived, shooing a protesting Lewis before them.

“But I had plans for tonight!” she wailed. “I wanna go back to the hotel and get changed.”

“Loki, what are you doing? Isn’t that your clerk? Why is your clerk wearing that getup? I mean I’ve heard of casual Friday, but Heavy Amor Monday is a new one,” Tony said.

Rogers, looking like a doof, with his hair sticking up all over the place from sweat and his helmet, sidled up to Winter and asked in an undertone, “Geeze, what kind of filing do they do on Asgard that the clerks need armor?”

Winter shrugged. While he would no doubt have to explain the whole Asgard Warrior Clerk thing to Rogers, now was not the time.

“Amusing, Stark, but not germane right now.” Loki pushed Doll-face towards the short, mouthy, affront to Winter’s existence. “You will protect this one.” Stark opened up his mouth, no doubt to bitch, but shut it again when Loki said, “When I get back we will finalize a lease for embassy and personal quarters. Ms. Lewis, you will stay in this tower until I return; I should be no more than a day or so.”

_A day or two?! What the hell! You promised you’d invite Steve to go to the bar on Tuesday._

Tell me about it, Winter groused, no more happy than Old Bucky about missing his Tuesday night dart watching.

Scowling, Winter stomped out to the terrace with the rest of them. Apparently, despite Stark’s increasingly shrill screams about Loki not being able to pacify a whole country with only three people at his back, Winter’s plans for Tuesday night were going to take a back seat to Loki doing exactly that.  

To steal a phrase from Lewis, life sucked sometimes.

 

OoooO

The moment they got back from Latvernia, Winter, unfortunately trailed by Lewis, headed down to Rudy’s Bar.

"Whoa, when Stark said this place was a dump, I thought he was just being all rich and snobby." She eyed the shabby bar stool in front of her distrustfully, and tentatively prodded the bar counter, seemingly ready for anything from an attack of mutant chip crumbs to customer dissolving beer residue.

"No one invited you, Doll-face, and no one will stop you from leaving."

Apparently convinced that there was no immediate danger from inadequate cleanliness, she hopped on the stool, swiveled sideways propping an elbow on the counter, and gave Winter her wholly unasked-for attention. "Oh, heck no. I want to see what kind of place you willingly hang out in. Although, with all the swank places you and Loki normally hit, I sure wouldn't have thought it would be a dump like this.” A low tutting noise made her look up at the approaching bartender. “No offense intended," she added quickly as a drink coaster was slapped down in front of her with a lot more force than necessary by Jessie, who was on duty this evening.

"Doll, just shut up and order will you. And Jessie, this is the boss's secretary Darcy Lewis, even if she does deserve it, if you spit in her drink, and I'll have to break your arm."

"I wouldn't do that."

"I know bub, but I'm just covering all the bases."

"And no tossing bitters in it or watering it down either," Lewis added sternly. "Seriously though, I'm down with the place, lord knows it a lot nicer than some of the places I've hung out in."

Tuning out their discussion of some of the worst places they'd willingly spent time in, Winter glanced around. Since it wasn't the day he normally stopped by, he wasn't too surprised not to see anyone he knew except for some guy named Bill, who he understood nightly nursed one beer while waiting for his roommate to get off work. Nor was he surprised that Johnnie Walker's name was up on the Winner board for last week. Pissed that he'd missed that game with all the fallout from the Loki's new 'Principality', but not surprised. He just hoped that since she only ever made it in twice a month, that this Tuesday's game wasn't one of the ones she was going to miss.     

Having assured himself that nothing had happened to his preferred haunt, Winter dragged Lewis out before she could order another drink. Listening to her and Jessie flirt was not how he wanted to spend his first night off in over a week. Nor did he want her to decide to make Rudy’s one of her haunts.

OoooO

Two weeks later, while Winter was trying, without much luck, to convince Dave, the bar's owner to allow him to start up a Monday night knife throwing competition, Johnnie walked in. Instead of just heading to one of the tables in the back, like she normally did, she shrugged off her ever-present leather jacket, threw it up on the bar beside him, sat down, told the bartender to give her a scotch, and to his complete surprise, spoke to him.

"You still trying to get them to let you start up a knife throwing league."

Wishing like hell that he hadn’t pulled his hair up out of his face so he could hide behind it, Winter did his best not to look panicked because a good looking cookie, who wasn’t named Lewis, was paying attention to him.

_Lots of dames pay attention to us, we’re a swell looking guy._

Yeah, but those are just random dames we don’t know, and aren’t gonna know. Not ones we don’t have any background on, that wear steel toed biker boots, could put a guy’s eye out with a dart, and are complete bombshells.

_There is that._

Trying not to look like a guy having a conversation with his inner alter ego, Winter nodded at her and said, “Dave here doesn't like the liability, and doesn't think it would be a draw."

"Really?” She looked thoughtful for a long moment. “Well, wouldn’t a league insurance policy solve the first."

"Well, yeah," Dave reluctantly agreed, ruffling the edges of the shift activity forms he’d been spot checking when Winter had come in. “But honestly who is going to be interested in knives? They have a hard enough time filling out teams for the dart leagues, which is why Rich is here every week trying to recruit. How many people do you think this would get?"

After thinking a moment, Winter said, “Lots of people I know, anyway. My boss for one, the two guys I work with. Doll-face in the office would no doubt attend just out of nosiness.” At the not-so-gentle prod from Old Bucky he added, “A guy I know from the old days, and maybe two or three of his friends for starters." He grinned at Johnnie, “And I bet what’s his name… Ryan? You know that EMT chump, who thinks you’re just lucky, I bet he would try at least once, since he believes he’s god’s gift to throwing things.”

"Most likely,” she agreed, and then turned to Dave, “I'd try it. Depending on the day of course.” Then turning back to Winter she said, “I don't say I could make it that often, but it could be fun."

They shared a look, and Winter was just thinking how pretty her eyes were when Dave demanded, “By the way, what is your name? ‘Scowling guy, you know the one with the hair’, takes too long to say. I’m all for letting people be private and all, but if you are going to try something like this in my bar, I will need to know your name eventually."

Winter frowned bit at the interruption, relaxed his features the second he realized he was doing it, and pulled out his wallet with a sigh.

"It's Nordic," he said, pulling his diplomatic license out of his wallet, and handing it over for examination. Before Dave could even unwrinkle his face to try, he said, "No one can ever pronounce it right, but part of it translates to Winter. So that's what they call me here. Winter."

As Johnnie liberated his license to look at it herself, Dave made a pfft sounding noise indicating agreement. "Yeah. I can see that. But look, Winter, even if you got insurance, which would probably be expensive, and got money up to set up a lane marker, protective backing, floor padding and the targets, cause you sure as shit can’t use the dart board, besides your co-workers and a few friends, who’ll show up who knows how many times, there's no draw."

 _Stevies a draw!_ Old Bucky groused irritably.

That was true enough. “I’ll bet I could get Steve Rogers to come once in a while.” Hell, Winter figured he’d probably have a hard time keeping Rogers away if it meant a chance to spend time with him. “You know, Captain America, Steve Rogers? That’s the old buddy I was talking about. And if he came, I am pretty sure that the archer and red-head he Avenges with would show up occasionally. I could probably could get even Tony Stark, and my boss here. Once, at least, anyhow.”    

"You know Captain America, _and_ Tony Stark?" Dave eyed him skeptically. Winter shrugged.

"We're not friends or anything. But my boss does business with Stark."

Johnnie, who was studying the license she had liberated from Dave suddenly exclaimed, “Wait a minute. I've seen this name. You work for that Space Viking guy. Thor’s brother. That means--"

Tossing his license down on the bar, she unzipped one of the many pockets of her jacket, pulled out her phone and started tapping furiously. "Ah! Here it is. I thought that guy looked familiar, you're Teddy Bear Guy!"

Winter was currently carrying three knives, a garrote, a boot pistol, a larger pistol in the small of his back and a freaking arsenal in his pockets of infinite goodies. However... per the look Dave, and the unknown shift bartender were giving him upon seeing the picture Johnnie had pulled up, he had apparently disgraced all real men everywhere. There was apparently no way you could look the least bit macho lying on the ground, beside another man who was hugging a teddy bear.

_Technically, it is a Bucky Bear. But that probably isn’t something you want to share._

Winter knew letting those guys in the park live was a mistake. An eternal embarrassment was the only reward you got for trying to do the decent thing for a change. No wonder Loki avoided it like the plague.

_He is **not** a good role model, even if he would have made sure no one would have lived to tell anyone what they’d seen._

"Holy fuck, you do know Captain America." Dave said admiringly. Of course his next statement was less so, "What the heck is with you hanging in the park at night with Captain America laying beside you? Hugging a teddy bear, no less?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have not started the next bit... which is worrisome. More worrisome is a cross country trip scheduled soon..... Which I may be taking sans cats. The Hubby claims it is to make the trip less troublesome for me and to leave more room to pack on the return trip... I am wondering if he is using them to guarantee my timely return. :D 
> 
> Comments are lovely, I'll take a dozen please.


	22. Chapter 22 - United We’re Confounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bar progress, political progress, moving progress... from a certain point of view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the excellent [EmuSam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EmuSam/pseuds/EmuSam)
> 
> If you are on google hangouts and like to talk writing or fan art look me up. Renne Michaels (with the angry snowflake avatar) I general hang in the FrostedAo3er room.

**Chapter 22 - United We’re Confounded**

"Holy fuck, you do know Captain America," Dave said admiringly. Of course his next statement was less so: "What the heck is with you lying in the park at night with Captain America while he’s hugging a teddy bear?” The bartender beside him made a few noises in agreement that conveyed his general disdain for teddy bear-hugging males, even if they were national icons.

Winter shot his best imminent death glare at them, and had he not been so annoyed, would have been pleased with the way both men instantly backed away.

“Not that there's anything wrong with that,” Dave assured him as he warily eased another step of two away. Like the protection of having the bar between them or a few extra feet of distance would have done him a bit of good if Winter had decided to jump him. It was a course of action Winter instantly dismissed, with only the tiniest bit of regret; after all, being an asshole should not incur an automatic death sentence. Or apparently, according to Loki, be a good reason to shoot them, even if you deliberately hadn’t gone for a kill shot.

_ Some people are just ungrateful. _

I know, right?   

And happily, that not killing people thing sometimes worked to your advantage. Because, the fact of the matter was that Dave was a businessman, and he could ignore the fact that Winter had betrayed all self-respecting males past, present, and future. And so realized that the crazy, shaggy guy who sat and glowered on the far corner of his bar once a week, actually not only knew Steve Rogers, but knew him well enough to... do whatever the hell they'd been doing in a public park, after dark, with a teddy bear. And if that was the case... Well then there was indeed a very slim, but not-to-be-scoffed-at chance that his dumpy bar could become an Avenger's hangout, with all the attendant traffic that would entail. Or even if, more realistically, it was only one Avenger, i.e. Captain America on a semi-regular basis, that would still be a draw for the slowest day of the week. Of course he didn’t say it like that.

"Well,” Dave drawled consideringly as if doing Winter a huge favor, “I might be willing to go along with it… If you could get insurance, and if you think you could get a few of them to show up at least once so my kids could meet them."

Which was how the Monday Night Knife Fights League was born. Turns out Dave’s kid’s were a three year old girl named Delilah and a seven month old boy named Joseph, neither of who really knew or cared about the Avengers, but hopefully when they were older, they would enjoy the pictures of them being held by various Avengers as their father mugged for the camera.   

OoooO

After taking a turn, and almost causing the first damage claim against the league by coming within an inch of missing not only the target, but also the wall protection that extended a ridiculous distance on either side of it, Stark yielded the board to Barton, but not before insults poured in on him from all sides. Chin raised and making a big show of not being affected by the taunts, Stark hauled over a chair from a nearby table and rudely wedged himself between Rogers and Lewis, earning himself an elbow to the gut from Lewis.

"Owww. What the hell Lewis? Lokes, tell your secretary to stop attacking me."

Stark called for, and thanks to his being a heavy tipper, received a delivered drink, while making a big deal out of being assaulted by Asgardian Embassy personnel, which should, in his opinion only, entitle him to ‘wink-wink’, ‘leer-leer’ compensation from Asgard’s ambassador. When Lewis got up to throw, he turned towards Winter, and drawled, "You know Wolfie, after the whole Doom episode I’ve been wondering. How is it you get to be so sassy with Mister Wizard here all of a sudden?"

Winter gave him one of what Lewis called his 'Creepy Psycho Killer' grins, but before he could say anything, Rogers jumped in, shooting a frown Winter’s way and saying in a disapproving voice, "It's not all of a sudden, Tony, he's been doing it since the first time they got here, Pretty Boy is a fairly derogatory term after all." Stark’s brows rose.

"It is?”

"Yes," Rogers replied in a flat way that would have let the entire world know exactly what Old Bucky’s mother would have had to say about her son using it.

"Did you know that?" Stark asked glancing at Loki, who just smirked at him.

"I'll have you know I am very pretty Stark."

"Well, I’ve certainly thought so, some parts more than others of course--."

Swallowing the mouthful of beer he’d just taken, Winter interrupted before Stark could start waxing rhapsodic about Loki’s various attributes. "Even in the old days it depended on who was sayin' it and how they said it." Winter glanced at Rogers, his lips curling in a grin as he nudged the god sitting beside him. "Obviously some made it out to be an insult, but for the record? By his own admission? He is very pretty."

Sensing an opportunity to cause trouble, and possibly not liking Winter leaning over onto the boss, Stark jumped back into the conversation. "Okay, so only sometimes you were insulting him, because I am positive I heard more than one inflection pal."

Winter shrugged. "Well yeah. Sometimes he needs to be insulted."

Stark rolled his eyes and turned to Loki. "So, coming back to my main question, how come he's allowed to insult you, and shout, and all that, but I'm not?"

Loki, making god damned doe eyes at the bastard, practically cooed, "Do you want to insult, and shout at me, Stark?"

"Well, not at the moment, Sweet Cheeks. But I'd at least like to know I could without ending up sailing out of another window.” He raised a brow, and fixed a shitty look on his face, “It's the principal of the thing you know. If I can’t do it, why can he?”

OoooO

No matter what Stark thought, if you took away the increased security and the attached parking, living in Stark Tower was  _ not  _ a step up from the Saint Regis.

_ Except for Loki. His rooms are so over the top it makes his place on Asgard, which correct me if I’m wrong were actually the king’s rooms, look like a flop house. _

Which was not quite true, but Stark had gone all out on Loki’s apartment, and then pretty much doubled the opulence when designing the Asgardian’s bedroom. Not that Stark would ever spend any time there, at least not so long as Winter had access to his weapons. But violent dislike for the short, smarmy bastard aside, he had to admit the Embassy area was much nicer than the utilitarian place they’d previously rented, so he’d give Stark that, even if Doll-face wouldn’t.  

Lewis was pretty incensed because instead of a grande hotel suite; she now had more modest, but still decent sized, living-kitchenette combo area with a bedroom and bath attached. Lodmund and Bran’s place pretty much mirrored hers, except they had two bedrooms with attached baths. Stark’s original plans called for that apartment to be a three bedroom-bath setup, but Winter had put his foot down about not being in the same apartment as his contract. That was no doubt why his room became smaller still, Stark being the spiteful bastard that he was. However the joke was on him, since magic weapon arsenals didn’t take up much space at all, and all he really required was a room bigger that a cryotank. Besides, if he wanted to stretch out somewhere when Loki had company he objected to, like Stark or possibly that asshole bartender, all three apartments backed up onto a large multipurpose room with a full kitchen and laundry facility.

OoooO

Not many days after they’d finished moving to Stark Tower, Winter found himself at the U.N. Building.

Standing directly behind Loki, despite the head usher hissing at him to sit beside Stark when they arrived, Winter was perfectly placed to hear everything Stark said when he leaned around him and placed a hand on Loki’s left shoulder. “Well, you certainly have the U.N. Security Council in an uproar, do you think you can try not pissing them off more?” While Loki didn’t reply, he did make a small gesture with his hand, which was Winter’s cue to inconspicuously, and sadly without any physical violence,  haul Stark back. Loki’s law clerk Lodmund, who had moved up into Winter’s unused seat, hissed a furious rebuke at the engineer, who in his opinion, shouldn’t have even been there. Self proclaimed, ‘Native’ guide or not.

As for the chance of Loki trying to make nice with the U.N. guys… Winter is of the opinion that ‘pissing people off’ is the Boss’ main way of interacting with the population in general, and authority figures in particular. Which was no doubt why he and Stark get along far too well for Winter’s comfort. Although he had to admit Loki was trying to blend diplomatically. Loki, Lodmund and even his guard Brand were wearing bespoke suits that gave Stark’s tailor a run for his money. In fact the only one not wearing a suit was him. Winter flat out refused, since no matter the boss’s claims that a well cut suit was armor against those who only respected wealth and privilege, Winter wanted something that was armor against someone trying to shoot through him to get to the boss.  

Of course his wearing Asgardian armor, was not Team Space Vikings only deviation from protocol. The moment introductions were over, and the session was opened, Loki, got up, motioned Lodmund to take his place at the temporary desk that they’d settled him at, and stood in front of the damn thing at what was basically a parade rest. An aggressive parade rest, think five star general reviewing a troop of dubiously effective grunts.

“As I am sure the Distinguished Representative of Asgard is aware, sovereign nations on this planet do not generally change ownership on a bet.”

“Well, they certainly haven’t for many, many centuries, but I assure you, Mister President, and the other honorable members of this council, that it has happened in your distant past,” Loki replied genially in the face of a fairly solid wall of disapproval.

The current president of the council, Matteo De Luca from Italy almost growled, “Not however, to a being that is not a  _ native _ of from this planet.”

While Winter couldn’t see Loki’s face, he could guess from the expressions of the council members watching him, that Loki was not only smiling, but showing a lot of teeth. “Actually, Mister President and honored council members, Lady Diaósfiá, a High Ljósálfar of Álfheimr wagered of as many nights of her charms as it took to conceive an heir for a Midgardian Konungr, against half the land under his control. Which she won and held until gifting it at the wedding of...” Loki coughed delicately. “... a meadow child of my uncle Frey, that child being in fact Sweden’s own Sigrid the Haughty.” The Swedish delegate jerked as if someone had used a cattle prod on him. “A gifted commander he might have been, but a Midgardian Konungr really should not have challenged a light elf to a game of bones. Sadly her descendants later lost part of her bride gift to Norway, that being the island of Hisingen. Again, via a game of bones. As for your other concern, I  _ am _ a naturalized citizen of your planet you know.” Which they apparently didn’t from the hastily scribbled notes passed off to aides. Loki pulled out a burgundy passport and held it up. “Suomi Passi. I own a rather nice residence on a four hectare farm not far from Lappeenranta, as well as several business properties there and in Turku. And as you may be aware, historically, I have Nordic ties with western Finland. Sufficiently close enough that their length of stay requirement was waived for me.”

Winter had often heard the expression Пустили кошка среди голубей, but he hadn’t thought he’d see  _ throw the cat amongst the pigeons _ so perfectly reenacted. Almost every member of the security council flinched, before hissing orders out of the sides of their mouths to wide-eyed aides, who then scattered as if they  _ were _ trying to escape a very hungry cat. Behind him Stark groaned. The Boss looked over his shoulder and gave Winter a mischievous wink before looking past him to bat innocent eyes at Stark.

Lodmund, suddenly peering down at some runes crawling across a ring of his, scribbled a short note which he leaned over and passed to Loki.

_ We have got to learn how to read runes,  _ Old Bucky shot at him sourly.

Which was true enough, even if he thought he knew what was going on. But, still neither he nor Old Bucky liked not being able to read stuff that was spread out right in front of them. Or for that matter, not understand when Lodmund and Bran started talking in old Asgardian or whatever the fuck it was called.

To say there had been a bit of upset over Loki ‘winning’ the country of Latveria would be a bit of an understatement. The longer Loki spoke, the higher the collective blood pressure of the Security Council went. When they mentioned that Latveria air traffic might be restricted from flying over their neighboring countries, Loki assured then he completely understood that there might be concerns until he proved how good a neighbor Latveria would be, and that suborbital transportation and cargo vessels could be used if necessary to make sure that Latveria vessels flew above the twelve mile mark that international air space consisted of.

Winter wondered which could go higher into space, the Security Council blood pressure readings or the Asgardian transports.  

“And while it was far to soon for the Latveria to be thinking of joining the European Union, I did hope that a letter of understanding can be worked out between the E.U. and Latveria,”

Loki continued, pretending to be completely oblivious of the reception his assurances were garnering. Including the Italian guy snapping out, “While I mean no disrespect to the Distinguished Representative of Asgard, aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself? There is no guarantee the Latverian people will accept… you… as their new owner.”

“Actually, Mister President, while there were a few dissenters I have already taken care of, as an absolute monarchy there really isn’t any cause for concern. Afterall, Latvernia monarchy has a history of skipping from family to family. Conquers being installed as the new head of government is pretty much a tradition for them, the Latvernia people are remarkably adaptable and have learned to work with, or around whomever is in charge. Besides, with the exception of changing the name of the capital to Nyr Fensalir, to honor my late mother, and a few guards from my natal estate rounding up a few of Von Doom’s more unpleasant henchmen, I don’t really intend to change much. I even like the color and design of their flag.”

_ That’s a load of bullshit. _

From the looks of the Security Council they didn’t believe Loki either. Which made perfect sense, since it   _ wasn’t  _ true. Of course the Boss didn’t look upon improving what was already in place as change. So school upgrades were planned and industry was going to shift to the production of protective devices for Earth, rather than Doom’s stupid robot destroyers, it was all good as far as Loki was concerned. Including Latvernia’s flag, with a tiny tweak of the horn motif and making the formerly red stripe now a reddish bronze color, since Loki could never leave anything strictly unchanged, but even so, it still was very much the same flag.

And honestly, changing out a crazy super villain ruler for a  _ reformed _ super villain ruler really wasn’t that much of a disruption in the grand scheme of things. Not to Latveria, or its neighbors at least.

OoooO

A few weeks later, Lewis had been left, over her strident objections, at the Asgard Embassy in Stark Tower. But, in exchange for her delivering the Bucky Bear to Rogers a couple times a day for pre-emptive hugging, Winter had promised to scope her out the best bedroom. That being part of  _ his  _ deal with Old Bucky so he would refrain from bugging Winter about Rogers,  _ or anything else _ , while he was on high alert in Latveria,

Not that Winter was expecting any trouble here. Their initial take down the day Loki had won Latveria had rid them, through exile or worse, of most of the officials who could have raised a rebellion. And having seen what the four of them could accomplish, apparently no one was stupid enough to take on the crew Thor had rounded up at his brother’s request.

Ulf, himself, and a group of his more militant clerks powered down into the middle of the capital’s main square to smooth the path as Latveria transitioned into a quasi-principality of Asgard.  And, more importantly, to inventory it, since it was now Loki’s personal property. And from the reports bouncing back and forth between Latveria and New York, Ulf and his crew had proved to be scarily efficient. However, that still didn’t mean that Winter was going to wear anything but full armor for Loki’s first official visit. He might look good in a suit, and be able to call his armor to him in a matter of moments, but there was no way Winter was going with anything less than full-on intimidating from the get-go.

“Do not frown so, you are the one who wanted a lair,” Loki chided, as Winter climbed out from under the armored limousine he’d checked at the end of the jet way, and declared safe. More or less. Lodmund, Loki’s clerk, who had at Winter’s insistence been taking tactical driving courses for months, slid into the driver's seat. Loki himself sauntered over to the car and waited expectantly, until Winter rolled his eyes and opened the door for him. Only then did Loki slide his bespoke, Dormeuil cashmere-suited ass into the damn limo like the fucking diva that he was. Winter didn’t even try to hide his epic eye roll as he clambered in after him.


	23. Chapter 23 - Cleaning House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stark 'wonders' what exactly Loki has been getting up to. Winter wonders what would happen if Asgardian steel met Italian Leather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the long suffering [EmuSam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EmuSam/pseuds/EmuSam)
> 
> Okay. Well. Where have I been? RL'ing a lot. My main floor roommate decided to move right before I was supposed to leave the house in her care and head for warmer climes. So lots of cleaning, hole filling, more hole filling, a bit more hole filling, wall touch up, and lots of baseboard re-painting. (Do you have any idea how much it costs to have custom double traverse rods rehung? What moron thinks taking them down is a good idea? Curtains? Okay maybe. But the hardware off two frigging picture windows? You can't even schedule that shit until after the holiday! Wtf was she thinking?)
> 
> But.... Honestly a lot of it has been the War of the Pretty Boys. Not content with having blown up a 5k Reverse RBB fic to 70k, they have been fighting hard to go epic. I'm like, "My dudes, I love you dearly, but you don't have that much story going on here." 
> 
> However, according to them I need to squeeze a Bucky Bear and throw myself upon the Rare Pair Epic Sword. 
> 
> I get no love from these two assholes. Or Steve for that matter. Tony however is of the opinion I need to wrap this sucker up and go back to FrostIron where I belong. :D
> 
> leSigh...
> 
> As you will shortly notice, this chapter sucks, but it is the only bridge available to get to the other section of the story, so try not to notice how wobbly it is please.

**Chapter 23 - Cleaning House**

 No sooner had Loki gotten rid of his brother, on the excuse that he needed a last few moments for contemplation before the investiture started, than Stark swanned into the room. “Nice place you got here Lo. It has that whole Medieval Castle meets Half-Crown House vibe going for it.” He clapped his hands. “But hey, enough chit-chat about this dump. You’ll never guess where I was last Thursday.”

“I don’t have to guess, you were at the One Earth Foundation Benefit with Ms. Potts. As was I. Please tell me you didn’t drink so much that the whole evening was a blur this morning.”

“Actually, no. In fact, I was sober enough to notice that while it might have seemed like the Ambassador from Asgard and his dog attendant, i.e. you and Wolfie over here, appeared to be there, they actually weren’t.

“Oh?”

“Nope,” Stark said, popping his ‘p’ in an irritating manner. “While I of course couldn’t prove it in a court of law--”

“How reassuring.”

“--I figure the part of Loki, God of Scrumptious Tummies was being played by Lodmund. You might want to remind him that you don’t worry about your hair as much as he does.” He glanced over to where Brand was guarding the door and pretending not to listen, “And Brand, if you're going to pretend to be Shaggy here, you need to watch Loki a lot more obsessively. Oh, and use the murder glare on anyone pretty that tries to talk to him.”

While Winter tried to telepathically convey to Stark exactly what was going to happen to him the minute he pissed Loki off enough to withdraw his protection, Loki just smirked at the annoying asshole, and said, “I’ll do that.”

Dismissing whatever smart-assed thing he might have been considering with a small what-do-you-know kind of huff, Stark instead said, “Whatever. So… Getting back to the topic at hand, exactly who is it that has disappeared for the betterment of worldwide peace this time? Another Mullah? That Pierre Nkurunziza guy you can’t stand? Ohhh, please tell me it is that Robert Jeffress guy, that I can’t stand.”

Untangling himself with a last pat on the engineer's cheek, Loki replied, “Sadly no. Not that I would have anything at all to do with seeing that dangerous, obstructive or divisive people retired from the world stage.”

Stark scoffed, “Of course not. Perish the thought. Even if we do seem to have an accelerating number of them unexpectedly retiring, retreating to mountain top monasteries or suddenly dropping off the face of the earth.”

OoooO

Nobody had dropped off the face of the Earth last Thursday, Winter thought to himself, making sure that his smirk was internal only. Onto a small island perhaps, that being a blessing when you consider that had he wished to, Loki could have dropped the jackass onto an island on another realm.

Alec Jiles was an infamous rabble rouser, who quite a few people hated to the point of wishing him dead. Which is why he paid many bodyguards to keep them from delivering the righteous retaliation pretty much everyone agreed he deserved. Not that his security was the least bit difficult for Winter to circumvent. And the less said about his ease of getting Jiles out of his house and having it look like he went of his own volition without alerting those bodyguards, the better. In fact Winter was seriously considering searching for a new title, as his and Loki’s more clandestine activities were lowering Winter’s already rock bottom opinion of those yutzes.

Still, it never ceased to be amusing to watch pampered assholes wake up confused, knowing that when they went to bed the evening before there had been a real ceiling above their head, not grass thatch.

“Hello, Alec.”

And okay, them falling off the cot and coming up spitting sand, looking around wildly for someone who could see them, but wasn’t present, was kinda funny too. Not that Loki ever let their antics disrupt his monologue.

“I just wanted to let you know that your time manipulating the ignorant rabble on the world stage has ended. You are currently on a small island, and while it does have a fresh water spring, and an ample supply of edible plants, it is sadly it is not near any of the more frequent trade routes.” What Loki did not mention is that it was also warded from discovery.

The man’s disregard for facts, poisoned discourse and narrow-minded zealotry in pursuit of an audience had, according to Winter’s research, caused a lot of misery over the years. The fact that Winter couldn’t stand listening to him whenever he was featured on the news, because he’d demonized or harassed people already in distress, had just upped the time table on shutting him down. Mister Jiles had been given the usual discrete nudges to straighten up or retire, but he had brushed them off. So, Winter didn’t feel the least bit bad about stuffing Jiles on a deserted tropical island. As for allowing the man the illusion that eventual rescue by a passing ship might be possible, that was all Loki’s idea; he claimed that the greatest of all treasures was hope.

Old Bucky was, however, of the opinion that his precious Loki was a sadistic bastard. And hadn’t been shy about sharing his assessment.

That, Winter really couldn’t argue with. Well, maybe the sadistic part, but sometimes Loki could indeed be a complete and utter bastard. But, he was Winter’s complete and utter bastard. Besides, after he’d learned about the misery Jiles caused just to hawk some snake oil pills, Winter found he didn’t really care what happened to the man.

While Loki’s next words were genial, his tone was anything but. “You will have ample time to consider the destruction and discord your word have inspired. No doubt, over the next several years, you will many times ponder the numerous errors you made that have brought you to this state.”

“Who are you?” Jiles demanded, looking around frantically until his wide, panicked eyes found the cheap baby monitor hanging from the highest point of the hut. Staring up at it, he tried bargaining, “If it’s money you’re after, I can pay you know.”

“I imagine you could, but not from that floor safe that was hidden under the carpet in your bedroom closet. I am afraid those funds will be going to charities that deal with the harm you have contributed to.”

“I have other money! Lots of other money! And I have powerful friends!”

“There are sometimes situations in life that you can’t buy or influence your way out of, Mister Jiles. Unfortunately for you, this is turning out to be one of them.” Jiles seemed to shrivel, unmoved, Loki continued. “Now listen, because I am only going to say this once. That crate at the foot of your pallet? There are a few tools, supplies, emergency food rations, and a manual on how to survive on a deserted island. I do hope you make good use of its contents; I wouldn’t want you to pass too quickly. And while I had originally considered adding a holy book, I don’t really feel you are the type of person to take comfort in spiritual works, having spurned most of the tenets of the major ones.”

Jiles, knees buckling as the enormity of what had befallen him struck home, slid down to the sand as Loki continued.

“And should accident, illness or just crushing despair overtake you? The case also contains a blue pill to end your sufferings. A mercy you ill deserve, but like the copy of 'Robinson Crusoe' that is also in your crate, one my partner insisted upon.”

Completely crushed, Jiles asked in a wavering voice, “Who… Who is your partner?”

He received a dignified snort as an initial reply, before being told, “That is not information for one such as you.”

“But, but. You can’t just leave me here!”

“I think you will shortly discover that we can. And though you haven’t mentioned your children, I would like to assure you that no other funds of yours have been touched, so provided you haven’t done anything stupid with your will in order to spite your estranged wife, they should be provided for.” Loki smirk was almost audible. “You even left them a comforting last message, assuring them that you are fine, but just needed to get away for awhile to think about what you have done with your life.”

“I most certainly did not!”

“You most certainly did,” the god mocked. “Well, perhaps not you, but I assure you no one will know it wasn’t. While possibly sad over your absence, without your hardline and, may I say, rather narrow world view poisoning their future, they might do very well indeed.” His voice hardened, “Certainly, your daughter will be better off not having a parent who continually spouts misanthropic drivel.”

Surging to his feet, red faced, Jiles shouted, “I demand to know who you are!”

 _He’s an annoying asshole,_ Old Bucky had groused to Winter almost automatically. But then, displaying a streak of fairness that seemed sometimes to transcend his more irritable view of the god, he added, _but he’s not wrong about this jerk. This guy is a rare piece._ Winter could almost imagine Old Bucky’s shoulders slumping as he’d added _, And, Earth does need to spend a lot less time arguing amongst itself._

“You are not really in a position to demand anything are you Mister Jiles? But, before I leave you to get on with the rest of your life, I will tell you, I am many things to many people. But in your case… You may think of me as an agent of change.”

OoooO

Of course Jiles wasn’t the only one Winter thought should be dumped off in the middle of the ocean. Winter so didn’t like when Stark crowded the Boss, that he wouldn’t even have cared if there was even a landmass under the annoying bastard. Sadly, he was restricted to merely trying to looming menacingly over Stark, which was unfortunate, since the guy was fairly ‘loom-proof’, particularly when Winter wasn’t willing to give up his place beside Loki and do it properly. All of which left Winter wistfully thinking about ‘accidently’ dropping a knife right through one of the jerk's highly polished Italian loafers. An urge that doubled as he continued yammering.

“Anyhow, like I said, I have my doubts that it was you I saw last night. But enough of that, did you hear that the One Earth Foundation got a huge anonymous donation on Friday? It was from some foundation in Bermuda that still has wet ink on its charter. Oh, and did you see the news? Thanks to some nut job YouTube conspiracy theorist who uploaded all his files to the internet, more than one asshole politician is running for cover.”

“Really?” Loki asked, as his lips curled into a tiny smile.

Having more faith than he should have in Winter’s restraint as it applied to his painful death, Stark once again indulged in a nasty habit he’d recently acquired. Wedging between them, he nudged Winter out of the way, wrapped an arm around Loki’s waist, and guided him towards a terrace door.

Loki after having cast an eye backwards glanced down at Stark, “You do know when you push between us like this, Winter fantasizes about knifing you.”

Without removing his arm, and using Loki as a pivot point, Stark spun around and scrutinized Winter. “No he doesn’t.”

Winter nodded at the engineer, because, yes. Yes, he did.

“Okaaaaay.” Leaning back, he peered up at the Boss. “And you knew this how?”

Turning back towards the room himself, Loki informed Stark, “The fingers on his right hand twitch when he is considering knifing you.”

Ouch. 

Were Winter the kind who allowed himself to blush, one would be rising right now. He had a tell? How fucking embarrassing was that?

His face taking on a calculating, and frankly skeptical look, Stark retorted, “You don't know that for sure. He could just be thinking of shooting me.”

“Ah. No. When Winter is contemplating shooting you, it is his right shoulder that tenses.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. And when he is wishing he could pin you to the wall and crush your thoat, the plates in his left arm shift.”

After a long moment of regarding Winter with an extremely disgruntled glare, Stark shook his head, “Naw. I’ll give you the other two, maybe. But his arm does the plates shifting thing all the time.”

“Indeed, they do. He finds you incredibly annoying you know.”

Which he did of course, but still, it was pretty mortifying to have so many tells. Winter could actually feel Old Bucky restraining himself from commenting, but what was more amazing was that Stark did too.

Stark, normally amused by just about anything Loki said, looked at him steadily, before deciding to return to the previous topic. “Uh, huh. Good to know. Anyhow, getting back to Jiles, I do hope that he’s protected enough that none of the people his files outed can kill him.” 

Loki’s brows rose almost to his hairline. “Oh, I imagine not; while I’m not sure exactly which of the crazy, YouTube conspiracy theorists you are referring to, what with Midgard having so many, I still have no doubt this Jiles fellow is wearing a ball cap and sunglasses disguise on a beach somewhere watching sunsets.” Loki exchanged grins with Winter, but then as Stark glared, he continued in conciliatory tone, “No doubt if there was great need of his presence, he could be… Produced.”

“You mean return of his own free will,” Stark scolded, as Loki slid out from the arm still clasped about his waist.

“Indeed.” Loki said with a smirk, “However Stark, as much as I would love to chat with you further, it is almost time for all of us to take our places.” He motioned to Winter to follow him and then said, “Stark, Brand will take you to your assigned place, where I imagine Ms Potts is currently worrying about what type of trouble you are busy causing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though I little deserve it for being so late, a comment would surely help my mood. ;D
> 
> I hope you all have a wonderful holiday.


	24. Chapter 24 - After Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has a mission, Tony has concerns, Loki has issues with the Norns, and Winter has a desperate need of a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the very quick and very patient with my lateness [EmuSam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EmuSam/pseuds/EmuSam)
> 
> Pack up day! As soon as I post this I will be packing up my system for the long delayed Texas Trip. We were going to leave Saturday, but the weather Saturday calls for rain the whole damn way. So no. I would rather leave a day later and have clear driving weather. Wet dogs in a car are no fun at all. 
> 
> But in the words of that famous radio personality, Ruby Rhod, "Who cares!" 
> 
> :D

**Chapter 24  - After Party**

Several very nerve racking, yet strangely boring hours later, Stark, neatly snagging a glass from a passing Latverian server, spun around. Winter, who had been ready to slip behind the engineer, and go up the narrow balcony that ran along the edges of the main reception area, stopped as the billionaire planted himself in Winter's path and asked, "Any ideas why Steve wouldn't come to this shindig? Other than Loki's dubious means of acquiring a country? I invited him to ride with me, and Pepper, but he said he had something else to do. Which was kind of a surprise, since normally he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to follow you around like a puppy. Anyhow, he spent all yesterday interrogating Thor about his mom and all things Asgardian, including what kind of clothes she used to wear. And last night before I left--"

Winter shrugged as he scanned the room. Stark didn't need to know that he'd arranged a distraction to keep the big goof occupied while Winter was gone. He needed to concentrate, not pal around with Stevie. Not that Stark wasn't an equally distracting annoyance sometimes. However, he wasn't too worried about Loki's safety right now, what with Thor, in full Asgardian armor, orbiting his younger brother like a bipedal tank.

Winter unconsciously braced for Old Bucky to either chime in with agreement on Stark being a PIA, or berate Bucky for not wanting Stevie up his ass every moment of the day or night. However, Old Bucky, holding to their agreement that he wasn't going to distract Winter while he was on high alert in Latveria, didn't. And honestly? The lack of Old Bucky commentary was… Odd? Almost distressing? About time?  

Winter would have thought that Old Bucky's absence would have been a relief, but in fact, it felt strange being alone in his own head. While it was of course swell not to deal with all the backchat sass, it was also a little… Lonely?

Or perhaps unnerving? Unable to decide, he was going to have to go with all of the above for the time being.

However, since Stark had no problems carrying on both side of a conversation, his continual chatter kept Winter from having the time to examine those conflicting thoughts too closely.

"--you a favor designing church windows? He had Jarvis print him out a stack of site plans, architectural sketches and blueprints, and looked like a kid who'd just inherited a candy store. What's up with that? Huh?"

Winter snapped his attention back to Stark, locking eyes with the shorter man, "Concept sketches. Rogers is working up concept sketches. They're possible designs for the windows and stonework on Queen Frigga's Firth Weaver Hall." Stark raised a questioning brow. "It's kinda like a Cathedral where people can pray for unity, and peace can be woven together for the good of Midgard." He explained, letting Stark's skeptical look roll right off of him. "Only bigger."

Pausing from taking the sip he'd planned, Stark snorted into his glass, and riposted, "Okay, putting aside the fact that Sexy Pants is going to build, not a chapel, not a church, but a freaking cathedral… Only bigger. And that for someone who pretty much hasn't been worshiped on this planet in centuries. Which is weird, but admittedly within the realm of Space Viking fuckery. I am still calling bullshit. There is no way Mister-the-finest-that-Midgard-has-to-offer-is-barely-acceptable-to-my-refined-tastes, is going to let someone who doodles as a hobby, work up designs for his tribute to Mom."

Which was admittedly possible. But, what Stark didn't know was unlike all the possibly more qualified people that might end up getting tapped for the job, Winter was feeding Steve design clues. After all, he didn't spend his time on Asgard in general, or Loki's personal spaces in particular, walking around with a blindfold on. He knows what the guy likes, and more importantly he's spent weeks in the queen's personal areas and knows what she had liked.

"Rogers is better than that. And Loki doesn't know about it yet, it's a surprise present from me."

"A surprise?" Stark repeated, going instantly thoughtfully. You could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he considered if he needed to come up with a surprise of his own. And of course, Stark, being Stark, how to have his surprise be better.  

Winter grinned, something that never failed to unsettle Stark if only slightly. "Yep, a surprise present from me, to him. After all, I might not have wanted him to get an entire country as a secret lair, but I have to admit, it is centrally located, I know most of the languages in this region, and hell, I'm pretty sure him owning the country will make it easier for me to create a string of safe houses for use in an emergency."

"What?" Stark demanded peevishly, "Nothing on the moon?" The engineer was obviously still annoyed at Loki's surprise investiture announcement that Latveria, using Asgardian-based transportation, was going into the satellite launch and repair business. And would be using those revenues to fund new industry for the country by refurbishing and retooling abandoned satellites from the much further out space burial orbit. Including ones that had been abandoned by Stark Industries over the years.

If the prospect of Latveria selling that new communication capacity competing against Stark Satellites International wasn't enough, Stark's abandoned communication satellites might also be repurposed with deep space warning arrays, and launchable intruder mines piggy-backed upon them.  Stark could, of course, work a deal to get them back, but if he didn't, well... Winter definitely intended to make sure he was present when Stark found out about products from his company being weaponized.

It wasn't that Winter was unable to keep his smile from turning just a bit more curly at the thought of how that revelation would be received, because, seriously, he had an excellent stare he could pull out when the situation warranted it. Rather, it was more that he didn't want to. Stark was one of his favorite people to mess with.

"Very funny, I'm sure," Stark groused. His declaration of humor notwithstanding, the billionaire did not look particularly amused, but after a moment he seemed to give himself a little mental shake. "So. I heard about you terrorizing the St. Regis bartender when he stopped by the tower the other day. Drawing bead on him when the elevator door opened? Jarvis said the guy almost crapped himself. Well, not using those words of course, Jarvis ya know. Still, cock blocking your boss is a pretty ballsy move if you ask me."

And one not without its dangers, not that he was going to share the contents of that little chat with Stark.

Not getting a reply, because Winter wasn't anyone's fool, Stark subjected him to a long thoughtful scrutiny.  

"You know, I can't help but notice that lately, you have been a lot more touchy-feely with your raven haired psycho boyfriend lately.

"Not my boyfriend, asshole."

"Yeah, yeah. But you know what? I am all about respecting asexual bromance, platonic besties or whatever you want to call it, just not for me."

"Banner?"

Stark grinned ruefully. "Okay, sometimes for me. But only if they're smart enough to make it worth my time." His grin faded as he eyed Winter speculatively, his expression more concerned than smart-assed. "Now I could be wrong. But that's pretty unlikely, since I am a genius, and it looks like you might be working on a gradual traumatic systematic desensitization, positive closeness, repeat exposure kind of thing."

Winter didn't growl, flinch, or reach for a knife, but he did glare for all he was worth.  

"Which I totally understand. And if you think it will help, I can recommend you an excellent massage therapist to help. Because, believe me, having once gone the torture route myself, I am, for once, not trying to be an asshole here."

And yet, even without trying, Stark still was.

They regarded each other in silence for a long minute. Stark, obviously uncomfortable in any situation where he wasn't jawing non-stop, of course broke first. "But, just so you don't get blindsided, you need to consider that while you seem to be doing, as far as I can see, okay with initiating casual touching with Loki, and your 'not pal' Steve, that's no guarantee that your progress is going to be fast enough to avoid another instance where you feel the need to send the next Bartender Boy St. Regis running for the hills."

Stark shrugged, as if not knowing that Winter had been on edge over that same possibility even before he'd decided to run off Loki's… Not boyfriend. What did they call them now? Hookup? And the almost certainty of some future hookup trying to insert themselves between him and Loki? Anytime he thought about that it felt like someone had stuck a dagger in his chest. And then twisted it. Repeatedly. Even the briefest memory of the searing wrongness, breathless panic, and feeling of utter devastation that he felt at the possibility of someone taking his place at the bosses’ side were so reminiscent of the early days of being returned to the tank that in addition to nausea, Winter felt sweat springing up at his temples.   

CLEVER BOY. YOU DO NOT NEED THIS SO CALLED GOD WHO CAUSES YOU SUCH HEARTACHE. THERE IS NO SUFFERING DURING STORAGE. INITIATE CONTACT AND ALL THIS PAIN CAN BE AVOIDED.

What?!

Rising bile forgotten, Winter turned on his inner Handler, surprised, but not ungrateful to feel Old Bucky’s rage join his as they crowded the rogue entity, pushing it before them.  No suffering? No pain?

Spiraling down into the dark where Winter seldom ventured willingly, an old styled travel trunk, with its lid ajar, was sitting half hidden in the gloom. The closer they got to it, the harder the Handler struggled.    

Going down and coming up from the tank had been agony. And if there was no pain in the tank it was because Winter had been dead for all intents and purposes. Go back to that? Voluntarily go back to that?

**Oh, Hell No!**

Winter would rather be permanently dead than have Hydra in his head again, scooping out what they didn't want him to have. For all the problems he might have now, he would rather stick with the god who treated him like a real person. That said god was also more than willing to help him find and kill every last Nazi asshole left alive was a bonus.

Loki may be a jerk, but at least he doesn’t hurt us. Or send us after Stevie and other innocent people. You don’t tell me what to do anymore.

_Us_

Fine, us. You won’t tell us will never tell us what to do ever again.

Working as a team for the first time in Winter’s memory, he and Old Bucky stuffed the screaming, flailing Handler into the trunk, slammed the lid down and latched it shut.

"You know, there is no need to growl.”

Huh?

_What?_

Coming back to himself, Winter felt more than a little wild-eyed.

“Or snarl, for that matter.” Peering at him closely, Stark said, “You did know you were doing it right? Or, not? At any rate, you don’t need to get all wolfie with me, I'm just the incredibly good looking bearer of probably unwelcome tidings.”

_Could this guy be anymore an asshole?_

No.

Winter could feel his lip curling into a sneer, or possibly another snarl, not that Stark appeared to care.

“Honestly, I am just trying to give you a heads up that after all you've been through with the Russians and Hydra, you might need to slow down.” His gaze not leaving Winter’s face, Stark swirled his drink, and took a sip. “You know what? At least consider how much hassle putting up with a mega-diva might be, what with you already having to put up with Steve’s crap when his tiny little feelings are hurt. It couldn’t hurt to consider other options.”

A chance to look around for other options? Why the fuck would he need to do that?

Winter may have been pissed, but Old Bucky was incensed. _I’ll tell you what would hurt tiny little Stark, you shooting him in the ass, that would hurt,_ he hissed. _You do it, and tell Loki it was me!_

Stark backed up as Winter moved into his personal space, looking down, his tone and expression both indicating death held in abeyance as only an assassin of seventy years experience could, he asked, “Who says I haven’t already, pal? And it isn’t like he isn’t a good option to choose. Hell, you keep trying to bag him.”

After the initial involuntary step back, Stark stiffened, definitely unwilling to give up any more ground.

“Yeah. Okay. So, I can’t argue that one, but I’m just saying you need to be sure you’re mentally up for making any kind of commitment at this time.”

Winter frowned at Stark for a very long moment. “You know, you don't have any room to talk. I’ve heard lots of people, people who really know you, question your stability and ability to form interpersonal relationships. ‘Emotionally stunted bastard’, ring any bells? I think if you feel _mentally_ able to make a push to catch his interest, I sure as shit am. Besides, it isn’t like I don’t already sleep with him.”

Stark couldn’t have looked more shocked if Winter had nailed him with a cattle prod.

“Anthony, have we not discussed this in length?”

Or maybe he could.

**OoooO**

 

“Wait, Loki, you’re sleeping with him now? Okay, so that explains him suddenly not being okay with your Bartender Boy Toy last week.” Waving his glass around in agitation, Stark amended, “Or rather more not okay, since he’s been pretty prissy about anyone you get close to since the beginning.”

Hands lightly clasped at his waist, a stance Winter is reminded to pass on to Steve remembering suddenly the numerous times he’d observed pictures of Asgard's late queen in just such a pose.

Apparently realizing he wasn’t going to get an answer, Stark asked with puckered brows, “So, you don't see a problem here?”

"I am aware of numerous problems within your realm. Pray enlighten me specifically which one is currently exercising your mind."

"You do realize he’s your employee, right?”

They both gave Stark an _are-you-fucking-kidding-me_ look, causing him to huff, turn his eyes heavenwards with a little shake and then ruefully scrub his face with the hand not holding a glass.

“Okay,” he said, waving his hand as he took it away from his face. “Sounds bad coming from me, voice of experience maybe? You know what, never mind that. Look, you’re a chaos god, he’s just outta the tank and both of you have enough issues to sink a cargo transport."

"I don’t see your concern."

"So. True consent issues aside, my concern is that your boy here is more than a bit dangerous. Particularly now that he has a pocket of infinite holding weapons cache. Not even country music would even be able to immortalize the crap he could pull if he was heartbroken and abandoned."

Loki scoffed,  "I assure you that no wild creature I have ever rescued, and there have been a fair few was ever abandoned. Or, allowed to create chaos that I did not specifically authorize. And quite of few of them had life spans many times longer than your average Midgardian."

"Well, that’s great princess, because, newsflash? If Spangles medical files are any indication, Shaggy is going to be around a lot longer than your average Midgardian."

"I am content that it should be so."

"Oh, really?"

"Indeed, It is always so sad when a treasured pet dies too soon."

"Yeah, except he's not a pet."

"Stark, your concern does you credit, but I assure you I am not in the habit of abandoning my responsibilities. Besides, Winter has grown on me, to the point I admit that I would be loathe to part with his company."

"I'm not a pet Loki."

Loki smiled that particular little smile of his that always made a little spot of calm within Winter, “Indeed not, you are my own hand chosen companion. Admittedly, I did not know that at the time. A fact the Norns no doubt found that amusing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, ya know you want to. :D


	25. Chapter 25 - Such Dedication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The celebration in Latveria, as with many things, begins to wind down. But not before Winter has a chance to practice his skills of persuasion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the lovely [EmuSam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EmuSam/pseuds/EmuSam) and The equally wonderful glencora 
> 
> No, I did not fall off the edge of the world, I did make it to Texas safely, however, things there were in a bit of a state... and then the holidays.... and then the plague... and then this damn thing kept insisting I could be great when I had all but lost my will to write and just wanted it to be finished. At any rate, there will be no more delays since I waited to post this until the 7k of it has been sent off to be Beta checked. Because as you know, I will leave no WIP behind. 
> 
> Lets see, when we last left the guys, Loki had become King of Latveria, Stark had learned he was getting some competition in the satellite business via Latveria, and Steve, who had stayed back in NYC had received a design commission from Winter, Winter and Old Bucky had ganged up on their Inner Handler and stuffed him in a small box, and lastly Winter, Loki and Stark had discussed trauma desensitization techniques, true consent, lifespans, and lastly the Norns having a good joke at Loki's expense. Whew!
> 
> Reminder --- I do not think Thanos' arrival is anytime in the near future, he would not have coughed up an Infinity Stone just to shave off a few years of travel time. I am thinking generations, if not at least a century or two. Not that the authorities on Earth haven't been encouraged to think than anything over twenty years or so is a luxury time wise. 
> 
> Anyhooo.... This isn't a box of chocolate, but this is my present to you for Valentine's day. :D

**Chapter 25 - Such Dedication**

Fortunately, before Stark could corner Loki to get clarification on whether Winter and Loki were sleep-sleeping, or ‘ _ sleeping in the biblical sense _ ’, the day's events overtook them and Winter smirked inwardly as a grumbling Stark was collected by his CEO to make the rounds, glad-handing everyone of importance.

Hours after Winter had tired of watching everyone and anyone who came near the boss, he was ushered into place for the last event of the day, a torch-lit procession down the main boulevard to the future site of Queen Frigga’s Cathedral of Peace. It would be some time before the plans for the main structure were finalized of course, but the site location had been cleared, and the location of the driveway that would someday sweep through grand gardens had been chosen. Loki, trailed by foreign dignitaries, that unfortunately included his annoying fucking brother and the equally annoying Stark, stopped at the entrance location flanked by news cameras and numerous bleachers full of locals.

While the crowds and the news crews both rubbed his nerves raw, it was Loki’s exposure coupled with a complete lack of body armor that made the muscles around Winter’s right hand keep twitching towards his knife sheaths. Admittedly, Asgardians in general, and Master Mages in particular were almost indestructible, but still. If it had been up to him, Loki would have traveled to the building site ensconced in a bullet proof limo, while wearing a flak jacket. And, no matter how much it messed up his goddamn hair, Kevlar head protection.

Sadly, it was not up to him. Therefore, with an upwelling of song from the hundreds singers arrayed on either side of the entrance -- who Winter knew had spent weeks learning some Asgardian hymn of thanksgiving-- Loki turned back towards the rest of the procession, protected only by his stupid designer suit, and stretched his arms out to shoulder height. The music crescendoed before cutting off as if by knife blade, and after an arresting moment of silence Loki’s voice rang across the assembly.

“In years to come, this day shall henceforth be celebrated. Not for my accession onto the throne of Latveria, but rather as the day that Latveria encouraged Earth to take its first stumbling steps towards unity and cooperation between all nations. And as Frigga, Princess of Vanaheim, Queen of Asgard wove the destiny of the nine realms together for the Norns, let those who gather in her grand hall weave together all the realms of Earth that each may grow prosperous and strong enough to contribute to the growth and defense of this great planet!”

As Loki raised his face to the heavens, long fingers folding across his chest as if in benediction, ‘May the Norns will it!’ went up from the choir in a well rehearsed cry.  Surprisingly, while Loki was milking his angel supplication pose for all it was worth, an unrehearsed echoing shout of ‘May the Norns will it!’ bounced around the crowd, gathering steam each time it was repeated.

Then without looking around, and in a low voice that somehow cut through the noise being generated from the crowd, Loki said, “Now Thor.”

Thor lifted his hammer, and forewarned, Winter slipped on glasses with lenses so dark they could have been used for welding. On either side of the entryway, lighting strikes lanced down from the sky. The bolts struck the two square plinths, not uncoincidentally backlighting Loki in the most dramatic way as jagged bolts of lightning swirled around them. Loki, flinging his arms wide, held that pose long enough for everyone to get a good look, then dropped his arms to his sides just as the last lick of electricity disappeared into the stones with an audible crack. There was a long moment of near silence as everyone’s eyes readjusted to the lack of blinding light. Then the bleacher crowd began to point up toward the clouds, where a pair of Asgardian cargo transports were lowering giant monoliths down to the recently electrified stone bases.

Just because the rubes all were watching thirty-foot tall stones that weighed more than twenty-five tons being lowered from the heavens, didn’t mean he was. The brighter part of the show over for now, Winter tucked his Thor-rated glasses safely away and returned to scanning the crowd, only flicking the occasional glance at the silently descending monoliths. Of course, Winter had been present when Loki had examined the completed entry stones via teleconference last week, so he knew that the carvings facing the street were going to show stylized depictions of Frigga: one of her spinning, the other one depicting her weaving. And yes, he had slipped Steve detailed copies of carvings Loki had commissioned, as well as copies of the Alphonse Mucha pictures that had inspired them.

_ A couple of pictures of them in place wouldn’t hurt. _

Working here bud.

_ Well not now, but later maybe. _

Working!

The silence was broken by an audible intake of breath from hundreds of the spectators as the entry stones, with only the tiniest scraping noise, settled into the receiving slots hollowed out on the massive bases. The smattering of applause that had begun with the release and retraction of the harnesses intensified into wild clapping as lighting crawled up from the base they were sitting on, and around the stones in sync with Loki raising his arms again. As before, it sank into the stone, but this time as it was absorbed, the monoliths began to glow, highlighting not only the front carvings, but also the other three sides of each stone which had the words ‘Peace’ and ‘Unity’ intertwined with each other in different languages and typefaces.

Thunder rumbled in the background until Loki shot Thor a glare that wiped the smug smile right off his face.

Winter was the only one besides the two brothers who knew how much pleading, begging and badgering Thor had done to be allowed to contribute his touch to the late Queen’s memorial -- and the various deals he’d agreed to in exchange for horning in on Loki’s tribute.

The stones continued to glow softly as limousines arrived to ferry Latveria’s new king, the Crown Prince of Asgard, and all the other dignitaries back to the castle.

_ Including Stark,  _ Old Bucky groused.

Unfortunately, yes, Winter acknowledged, musing privately that everyone had their cross to bear, and right now Stark seemed to be theirs.

**OoooO**

Despite several checks, neither of them yet trusted the safety of the better staterooms, nor of course Doom’s personal suite, so the sleeping arrangements that night were not quite up to the standards Loki was used to. Hell, they were not even up to what he supplied to Winter. Not that there was any difference between them this evening, since Winter had no intention of letting the boss out of his sight both for safety and…other reasons.

This is how they’d ended up in a modest, nondescript room on the other end of the castle from the state apartments, in what must have previously belonged to one of Doom’s midrange henchmen. Winter leaned back against the bed’s headboard and fought back a yawn, as Loki got ready for bed. It had been a really, really long day, listening to Loki and his brother snipe and argue over the stupidest shit imaginable. Not only was it annoying to listen to them fuss about penny-ante crap that happened centuries ago, but it left him wondering how in the hell they could non-stop squabble, while smiling, and waving, and not moving their mouths. Hell, just trying to figure out how they managed that, was almost enough to distract him from his protection mission. Honestly, was fluent ventriloquism so they could fight without the public knowing about it, a royally required skill set? Or just something that bickering brothers learned in self-defense? At any rate, it had been added stress that Winter hadn’t needed to deal with, particularly in a still unknown environment. Thank God, Thor hadn’t been invited to spend the night. After such a long day, if they’d continued sniping at each other, Winter would have had to shoot one of them.

Well, shoot Thor anyway. Because Loki  **_had_ ** added an addendum to Winter’s contract that prohibited him from being a future target of even non-lethal gun shots.  Just so there would be no misunderstandings.

And then there had been Stark sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. Winter really did not want to be reminded about the Bartender-Elevator incident. Loki had insisted that Winter write the man an apology, which had taken so many drafts to get it to Loki-approved wording that they almost had to send out for more writing paper. Additionally he’d been required to personally cover a fourth of the hush money needed to get the guy to sign a non-disclosure contract. Just his portion was high enough that he’d considered offing the guy and making it look like a mugging gone wrong. However, as livid as Loki had been, that didn’t seem like a smart choice. And while Winter didn’t want to part with any of the cash he’d squirreled away in case of an emergency, he would have paid the whole amount months earlier, if it got the gin-tossing bastard out of his life.  

_ Whoa. Heads up pal. _

Bare-chested, and still braiding his hair as he exited the bathroom, Loki swanned over towards the bed, not unsurprisingly claiming every bit of Winter’s attention. It was covert attention admittedly, since highly trained operatives knew better than to let the mission target know how closely their abs and that little dip on either side of their waist was being scoped out.  

_ Internally drooled over. _

You’re not helping you know.

As soon as Loki had bid him goodnight and slipped under the covers, Winter allowed himself to slide an inch or so down on the pillows piled up behind him. Stifling yet another yawn, and ignoring the virtual smirking from Old Bucky, he turned his thoughts toward the sub-mission he’d set himself of capturing Loki’s complete and undivided personal attention.

Since it wasn’t like he could keep threatening to shoot people that caught Loki’s fancy, he needed to focus it on himself. Exclusively on himself. No more smarmy pretty-boy bartenders, no more fawning reporters, low-level social climbers, and definitely a lot less mouthy-can’t-mind-their-own-business billionaires. Although Stark was going to be the toughest nut to crack, as he was smart, rich, influential and Loki found him amusing.

_ But pint-sized once he takes his lift shoes off. _

True.

As mission asset assessment was one of his skills, he wasn’t too worried. Because, honestly, he has a lot going for him Norse-God-captivation-wise. He isn’t blind by any means, and he knows that even at his scruffiest, he’s a good looking guy. Cleaned up and dressing smart? He has stopped conversations a time or two while walking past the ladies at the spa (Darcy and other people having no idea he had super hearing). According to their whispers, he is stunningly good looking, particularly when he uses the Old Bucky smile. Which is apparently something Old Bucky both knew, and was pretty smug about. Annoyingly smug in fact.

And he knew he was Loki’s type. And the God also enjoyed his sense of humor as well as the way he filled out a pair of dress pan--

OoooO

Winter, jerked awake by a sharp kick to his shin, reflexively reached for one of his knives. Hair tumbling from its loose braid, Loki shifted, peered over his shoulder with heavy, half-lidded eyes, semi-dislodging Winter from where he was huddled against the boss’s blanket-covered back. His metal arm snatched back from where it had draped over Loki’s waist while he was sleeping, the one under his pillow tightening convulsively on the small push knife he’d just clutched.

“Yes, fine. You are allowed to want.” Loki’s voice, sleep roughened, continued a conversation that had taken place several hours ago when Winter decided even though there had been no battle, he wanted to stay close … for security reasons.

“I do understand. However what **_I_ ** want right now is to sleep without being crowded off my own bed. I don’t think that is an unreasonable desire.”

Shuffling back perhaps six inches or so, Winter retorted, “Technically, this isn’t your bed.” Of course, technically it wasn’t Winter’s either, but he was working on his desensitization to close contact plan.

Rolling to face him in the small space Winter had opened up between them, and again displaying that uncanny, almost mind reading knack he had, Loki said, “Winter, I am not unmindful of Tony Stark’s thoughts on your ‘project’. And, while there can always be an exception, I will say that with practice and proximity, most emotional trauma can be greatly reduced.” Loki gave him a sleepy grin. “Nor would I be distressed with receiving your attentions should you reach that point. You are quite comely, and…”  Loki’s eyes drifted shut, and for a moment Winter wondered if he’d fallen back asleep. Fortunately, before he could work himself into a snit over the inopportune interruption of what was to him a very informative conversation, green eyes opened again, if only the tiniest bit.

"I am not unmindful of Stark's thoughts on dependency and free agency. Short of slitting his throat you cannot shut the man up, especially on this subject. However. I do think that a person with the force of mind to break their conditioning as you did should also have the mental ability to decide if they are ready for intimacy, and with whom.”

“And since my attentions are not otherwise engaged, and I do find you pleasing, I have no objections to you continuing at your own pace.” Loki paused a moment, essaying a sleepy snicker, which Winter found absolutely endearing, and then continuing in an almost meditative voice, "Therefore, I could be persuaded to entertain the notion, even if your project takes ten years. I am a god after all, time does not press me, plus …” the corner of his lip curled up, “You are not difficult to look at, as I am sure you know.”

"Well, yeah."

“And so self-assured." Loki patted his chest, and gave him another sleepy smile. "While Stark may have his charms..." Winter scoffed, but Loki countered with a slight puckering of his brow, "Well he does, but being associated with me has its hazards, and one must face the fact that outside of his suit, the man is fragile. This is a shame actually. If his hedonist reputation is not too greatly exaggerated, he is no doubt skilled in more than ironmongery."

"He's still a jerk."

"You are entitled to your opinion of course, but what you are not entitled to is three-fourths of this rather small bed, so either move over, or find another room to inhabit." Loki pushed harder this time.

Winter moved over of course, he knew Loki was dead serious when he'd decided he wanted more room.

And it wasn't long after the boss had scooted closer to the center of the bed and fallen back asleep that Winter gingerly slid closer so he could try laying his arm across Loki’s waist while awake this time. While the metal arm didn’t have the range of feeling that his flesh arm did, it made up for that lack by the fact that whatever it held onto didn’t get away.

OoooO

Two days later, after all the guests were gone, they assisted a crew of Asgardian grunts in stripping Doom’s private wing and lab spaces down to the studs. Or in some cases, the raw stone walls. Obviously neither he nor Loki were doing actual demo work– well, except for that time one of the grunts had mumbled some crap under his breath about fragile little Midgardians. Winter had reached past him, and used his metal hand to crush a thick-hewn wood support beside the guy’s head to encourage him to zip his lip. Unfortunately that particular support was not something that was supposed to have been demolished. In the end, it took every ounce of murder glare that he could muster, and the fact that he was Loki’s personal retainer to get the Asgardian foreman to shut the hell up.

Not that he and Loki had spent a lot of time around the work crews. Generally Loki used his magic to sniff out magical problems before they even entered a room. Once a room was deemed clear of those, they both scoped it out looking for booby-traps, hidden rooms or secret stashes. The latter was something they found quite a few of; Doom apparently didn’t entirely trust the international banking system.

The harder-to-injure-or-kill Asgardians were used for the demo work just in case they missed a trip wire or malevovent spell, or as it turned out, a dead fall. Fortunately no one was injured since the ceiling was caught by one of the other crew members, who, being stronger than fuck, held it up until temporary bracing could secure it.

Once he and Loki finished their thing, and the demo crew finished theirs, the areas were deemed safe enough from defensive spells and booby-traps that mere mortals were permitted to do the rebuilding.

OoooO

Harder to deal with was the head of the design team who was drawing up the rebuild plans. The guy was wrinkling his nose as if Winter had just handed him a sack of rotting potatoes. And from the way he was gingerly leafing through the idea folder that Darcy had sent, he apparently was wishing he’d put on rubber gloves before opening it.

“Mister Winter, you don’t understand,” he said at last, in that overly patient way that some people adopted when having to deal with the hopelessly stupid. “We are trying to have the whole wing, from public areas, to work spaces, to personal retreats, work together in an Edwardian Classical style. Updated, of course.” Winter did not roll his eyes at the amount of condescension dripping from every word the guy uttered. “And, I’m afraid that mixing in a suite, in what I can only describe as the bastard child of Louis Quatorze and a Disney Princess, will simply not work.” He closed Darcy’s idea folder, and as if not to allow himself to be soiled anymore than he’d had, held it out to Winter using only his thumb and forefinger.  

Loki, alerted by the shrill screams of the designer, wafted into the room seemingly unconcerned that his bodyguard had someone jacked up on the wall so high up that their feet weren’t touching the ground.

“Ah, Winter. I was looking for you.” Glancing over, he pretended to have just noticed that a growling Winter was nose to nose with his terrified head designer. “Problem?” Loki asked, bending down to pick up the folder and its scattered contents. Standing up again, he motioned for Winter to release his victim, then began leafing through the various photos.

“So this is what her suite needs to look like, to reconcile Ms. Lewis to leave New York for the wilds of central Europe?”

“Yep.”

Loki hummed noncommittally, until he got to one of the bathroom photos. “Oh. My.” Eyes raising from under furrowed brows, he asked faintly, “What style, exactly, would this be considered?”

Emboldened by the faint note of distaste he detected, the designer tugged his suit coat back into place and sneered at Winter, before dismissing him from existence. Turning towards Loki he allowed himself a theatrical little shudder. “It appears to be a French Rococo gold embellishment of completely overblown Art Nouveau. Neither style, I’m afraid, is at all suited to a tastefully appointed dwelling, and together--”

“Dreadful.”

Wait, isn’t that Mucha guy’s style that Nouveau stuff?

_ Yep. _

“Dreadful indeed, your Highness,” agreed the man, his pale blue eyes rolling over towards Winter, a tiny smirk lifting the thin blond mustache he sported. “And completely clashing with both the spaces we are working with and the look you wanted us to achieve.”

“No. I can see that,” Loki agreed, eyes narrowed in thought as he regarded the various tufted bits of upholstered furniture, the crystal hung light fixtures both on either side of the ornate gilded vanity mirror, and the one hanging from the ceiling. “The overhead light is much too plain for such a space, and I suspect the scale too small for the impact this design would need.” He dropped the photo back into the folder with a sigh, before he held it out to the designer. “Still, I am sure a man of your vision can manage to make whatever tweaks might be necessary to make Ms. Lewis’ dream quarters a reality.”

Ignoring the man’s wide-eyed look of dismay, Loki smiled. “If anyone can do heavily gilded, over-the-top Art Nouveau tastefully, it’s you. I am sure your preliminary sketches will meet with Ms. Lewis’ approval.” He quirked a brow. “And more importantly, mine.”

OoooO

Shortly after the designer fiasco, which Winter didn’t  _ exactly _ get told off over, he and Loki were free to return to New York. That was great in one way, because he'd already missed several dart nights at the bar, and there was only so much paprika a man could ingest. However it was bad in another, since it would eliminate the excuse to share a bedroom with Loki.

_ Could you be any dumber? Just keep fucking doing it. If he wants you to stop he’ll definitely tell you, the guy isn’t shy about complaining if something pisses him off. _

Well, yeah.

_ And you’re obviously his type. _

And Winter couldn’t help feeling just a bit smug at Old Bucky’s disgruntled tone.

_ Yeah, well. I wouldn’t feel so stuck-up about it. Brunette and boorish aren’t that hard a combination to come by around here. You, Stark, bartender boy...hell, you yutzes were practically the first three people he met when he came back to earth.  _

Old Bucky was such an asshole.

_ I can hear you thinking, you know. _

Yeah. I do know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little though I deserve it, a comment would be better than the Chocolate, I currently don't have. :D


	26. Chapter 26 - All things must come to an end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony drops way more than a dime, Steve does not squeal, but it is close. The long overdue conclusion to the Winter Wolf. Stick a fork in it folks, it be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd in record time by Glencora, with many thanks to her for helping me drag this thing across the finish line, also [Withinmelove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withinmelove/) for all the assistance they provided, and of course special thanks to the wonderful and ever patient [EmuSam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EmuSam/pseuds/EmuSam) Who Beta'd the bulk of this fic. 
> 
> I do hope you like the conclusion. :D 
> 
> **** Make sure you have read the chapter I posted yesterday first. *******
> 
> As this is a Rare Pair, I don't know if I will revisit them, but you never know. With enough reader enthusiasm, anything is possible. :D Enjoy!

### Chapter 26 - All things must come to an end

Back in New York, Winter cursed that his sleeping self apparently had no problem crossing the vast expanse of Loki’s huge mattress and draping itself over the god like a blanket, while his waking self still tensed up or lashed out anytime someone touched him. He cursed even more, that his sleeping self apparently had a habit of crowding closer every time Loki moved, which inevitably pushed the god to the edge of the bed. And equally inevitably caused him to get kicked in the shin, as a half awake Loki demanded, ‘Oaf, move over!’, before realizing it was Winter and not Thor. Once that happened, half-asleep Loki always referred to him as ‘my wolf’. 

So apparently, like his sleeping self, Loki’s brother had also been a bed hog. Winter was half tempted to ask Thor if after he’d moved to give Loki more room, and moved quickly at that to avoid a second one of Loki’s mule kicks, if Thor had also gotten a mumbled apology and a soft little pat on his cheek before Loki went back to into a deeper sleep. If so, Winter sincerely hoped it had not been the pat, with an approving little humm, that he got those times when Loki sleepily patted one of Winter’s _other_ cheeks.

Of course it would also have been nice, if those _‘other_ ’ parts weren’t instantly followed by Winter almost jumping out of his skin in panic, and then equally quickly going rigid in an attempt not to reflexively stab Loki, or leap out of bed. His abrupt movement, almost always bringing the god to full wakefulness.

“I do apologize.” Loki always said, as if Winter hadn’t just snuggled the man to the point of almost crowding him off his own bed. Or on more than one very embarrassing occasion groping him to full wakefulness. In **_all_** ways.

Which, once he’d fled into the bathroom until his own bits calmed down, was always so fucking embarrassing—not that Loki ever brought it up.

_Heh._

Just don’t.

And whenever he’d get mad or discouraged at himself, Loki would always say, ‘Winter, do not fret so, you’re doing very well indeed.’ or, ‘Such reactions are only to be expected. Despite what Stark says, you are progressing quite well.’ And he always ended up with, ‘Shall we go back to sleep? Or would you rather go get some hot chocolate?’

_I usually vote for chocolate._

Shut up you. No one cares what you want. Besides, there is no usually about it, you _always_ vote for hot chocolate.

OoooO 

You would think by now that Stark would have learned to go with the flow when Loki went on another one of his little social engineering to promote world unity benders… What with him being a self-proclaimed genius and all.  

“Loki, I know your alter-ego Michael ‘fucking’ North is behind this education reform mess,” Stark said over the vid-com. Ignoring the tutting noise from Loki, who was sitting at his desk surrounded by documents he really needed to approve before the day was over, the billionaire continued with, “Frankly, I was amazed that ‘someone’ even managed to get it to the amendment stage. Which most likely only happened because no one figured it had a chance of making it to the ballots of thirty-eight states, let alone have a chance of passing in any of them.”  
  
“Isn’t it amazing what grassroot groups and teachers can accomplish given a bit of encouragement and funding?”  
  
“Yeah, fucking amazing. Imagine the money it took to pull that off. But, you know the various private schools, cyber schools, religious groups, and homeschoolers are going to pitch a fit. And besides, it won’t work: we have something here called geographic self-segregation you know.”  
  
“Indeed, and that is a problem still to be solved, however your country also has numerous areas where the fabulously wealthy live only a few blocks from the very poor. I assure you _those areas_ will definitely address the issue of poor schools if they have to send their children to them. And once they do, they will push for the geographic self segregation to also fall into line, since they won’t want those children to have a perceived advantage over their own spawn. As for the others,” Loki shrugged, “Religious instruction can be scheduled by parents for non-school hours, and home schooling will still be available for those who have true needs for separation from the general population.”  
  
“Look, I’m not arguing--”  
  
“Do you deny that it will do a great deal of good if all children were afforded the opportunity for the same level of education?”  
  
“You know that’s not why most people send their kids to private and parochial schools--” Loki’s answering grin was so sharp, that the sound of it cutting through the conversation made Winter look up from his tablet.

“Of course not,” Loki purred, “but don’t you agree that mingling with other children of different races, cultures and income levels can only foster greater understanding between the numerous social groups that make up your country?”

Stark shrugged, “Well yeah. But do you agree that there is going to be hell to pay if people find out you are behind this. They will scream bloody murder that it is an alien conspiracy. Particularly the freedom of religion people.”

“They are still free to practice their religion, but they would no longer be free to insulate their children from the fact that not everyone feels the same way. Besides, how am I behind this? Many of these organizations have been fighting for educational funding equality and the inclusion of all students for decades. They feel, and I agree, that nothing will guarantee it more than the requirement that all children must attend their local school. As for the other, does not your government enshrine the separation of church and state as a major component of its founding, and of its laws?”

“You know it does,” Stark said dryly. “However another component prohibits foreign money from influencing elections.”

“Sir, if I may interject?” Jarvis’ voice wafted out of the screen’s speakers. “I do believe his majesty is counting on the fact that established law mainly prohibits support of individual candidates, or direct financing of ballot initiatives. Contributions that merely provide financial support for administration and fundraising, are permitted, particularly so since these initiatives are truly Grass Root driven, and in not in support of an individual, or a political party per se.”

Stark’s face took on that sour look it got when someone undermined one of his arguments. “Thank you Mister Peabody.” Winter supposed Stark’s tone could have been prissier, but he was hard pressed to imagine how.  

Since none of Jarvis’ cameras were present in their part of Stark Towers, Loki directed a quick glance, and nod of thanks towards the video-conference camera, before addressing Jarvis’ creator. “Stark, it is a chess game. First you eliminate the loopholes for the wealthy and bigoted. Then you go after unequal funding schemes, until at last you can provide every child with at least some form of a common experience. After that it becomes a great deal easier for them to envision a common good for everyone, not just a privileged few.”

“So what then? You start working on other countries to do the same?”  
  
At the small table behind Loki, where he’d been supposedly pursuing various updates from Latveria and Darcy, Winter snorted. Stark cast him an irritated glance before Loki shrugged and recalled his attention. In a tone normally reserved for discussions with small children, he said, “Oh, Stark. As you Midgardians would say, that train has already left the station.”

Tony again directed his glance over Loki’s shoulder and addressed Winter, “You know, your boyfriend is an asshole.”

This time it was Winter’s turn to shrug.

OoooO

A few weeks later, ignoring Stark’s heavy scowl as he exited his penthouse, Winter popped the kickstand down, swung off his new bike and pulled an irregularly shaped package out of one of the large black saddlebags.

“You can’t park that thing here.”

Winter looked back at the swooping lines of the sleek black and chrome machine he’d just stepped away from, before turning back to Stark with a frown. “Of course I can, I just did.”

“No.” Stark said with a bit of a huff, not doubt from his teeth being so tightly clenched together. “That’s my suit gantry landing, and no one lands there but me.”

Brows furled in fake confusion, Winter took a few steps closer to the miffed billionaire, but then paused a moment as if in puzzlement, “Thor lands there all the time,” he said, causing Stark to puff up like an angry pigeon.  

_Which is always fun to watch._

Yep.

“And I don’t like that either,” Stark grimaced, no doubt thinking of all the times Thor-generated static has shorted out the landing pad’s lighting system, “but at least Thunder Cat doesn’t park anything there.” He fixed Winter with what he doubtless thought was a glare, indicating imminent retribution.

_As if._

I know, right.

“Besides, you know, you guys have assigned parking in the garage. Or if the basement garage isn’t a good enough roost for that thing, you could use the terrace outside Loki’s living room. This is New York, and being New York, you just can’t park your ‘Space Moped’ anywhere you want. And particularly not on my private landing pad.”

“I don’t see a no-parking sign anywhere. Besides, it was such a nice day for a ride, I volunteered to pick up our Latverian diplomatic pouch from the airport, and found they’d sent your shit as well.” Winter slapped the package of salvaged satellite chips against Stark’s chest. “And being the nice guy that I am, I decided to bring it to you.” Winter then quickly moved away, leaving Stark with the choice of grabbing this package, even though he didn’t like being handed stuff, or letting it fall and risking breakage. And loss of all the information he was hoping to glean off the parts he had paid so dearly to buy back from his own abandoned property.

Stark was mulling over the odds of getting away with shooting Winter, when Rogers showed up. “Oh, hey Steve. By all means, come in. Please, don’t mind me, make yourself at home.” And thereby earned himself a knitted brow of disappointment and a side of jutted jaw, before Rogers turned his attention towards Winter.  

“What did you do to rile Tony up this time?”

“You mean, other than invite people to my penthouse when he has his own apartment just a few stories lower?”

“I parked my bike on his stupid landing platform.”

_Steve loves motorcycles._

No? Really? I hadn’t guessed from the nine million times you mentioned it since I got this  yesterday.

“Oh?” The mild skepti-confusion Steve was experiencing, only lasted until he followed Winter’s head nod towards the landing platform. The magnificence of the machine sitting there causing him to go all dropped jaw and starry eyed.

“Oh! Wow. That’s some bike, Buck.”

And not without reason. While Winter appreciated a good looking suit, or god, he did not really have much of an eye for the finer points of design. But even he was--

_Enraptured._

\--captivated by the fluid lines and structural shapes that just flowed across his bike.  

Awestruck, Rogers drifted out onto the platform, with Winter trailing behind in amusement at Rogers single mindedness. Stark followed them, pretty much green with envy.

“That’s not a motorcycle. It’s an overly embellished affront to the _idea_ of a motorcycle.”

_And snippy about it too._

“Tony!” Rogers’ admonishment was at best half hearted, as his attention was only concerned with getting a closer look at Winter’s new ride.

As for Winter, he didn’t even bother to hide how much Stark’s indignation amused both him and Old Bucky. “Pretty, huh?”

“I’d say Buck. It’s just like those space bikes in the old comic books we used to read. Where on earth did you find it?”

Letting the ‘Buck’ nickname roll right over him, because, Rogers, Winter laughed, “Not on earth, obviously. Loki ordered it for me from some planet called Alfheim”

“Whoa. And it flies?” Almost instantly Rogers became flustered at the stupidity of that question, since the parking pad the bike was sitting on was ninety some stories up in the air. “Well, it must, you got it up here, but… how? And what does it run on? I mean, probably not gas.”

He shrugged, “Hell, if I know. Elves made it, so pixie dust maybe? Whatever it is, Loki said it will stay powered longer than he’ll live, so I’m not going to worry about it.”

A hand, half outstretched, was pulled back, as if he hadn’t wanted to smudge the highly polished finish. Instead, Rogers hunkered down to get a closer look at the foot pegs, or rather the intricate scrollwork that made up the black metal pegs.

“You wanna go for a ride?”

Rogers stared at him, his face lighting up like the sun. “Really?!” Only half suppressing his own smile at Old Bucky’s pleasure at seeing his friend so pleased, Winter shrugged.

“Sure. We can take it out somewhere and really open it up if you want. And heck, if you’re lucky, I might let you give it a spin.”

“Oh, sure, let him--” Lower lip stuck out, muttering petulantly under his breath, Stark turned and stomped away. “Asshole gods…How come I can’t have one… Just wait until he wants something from me.”

Winter winked at Rogers, who just shook his head at Stark’s ill-concealed jealousy. “You know, I could use someone to go riding with. Maybe you could talk Loki into getting you an elf bike as payment for your design work on his mom’s church.”

Struck dumb at the possibility of owning something that he’d dreamed about as a child, it took Rogers a few moments to reply. And when he did, you could tell he was trying **not** to squeal with excitement.

“Oh, my _gosh!_ Buck, that would be so _swell._ Do you really think he would?”

Ducking his head a bit, Winter shot Stark a quick sidelong glance, “Sure he will. Or at least he will, if ** _I_** ask him to.”   

As so he did. And if Rogers’ bike wasn’t as fancy as Winter’s, nor did it have as many protection runes cast over it, it was still nice, and it was still protected. Not that Rogers would have cared . His cycle could have looked like the biggest piece of crap cruising New York City, and he’d have still been thrilled because it _flew_. He was less thrilled when, before they could go riding, Winter and Loki disappeared into the wilds of Alaska to fix the ice packs the polar bears depended on. Lewis and her damn YouTube videos were definitely now in Winter’s ‘top one hundred’ shit list.

OoooO

While fall ended a few days ago, the weather remained crisp and clear, and warm enough in the afternoon for two super soldiers as long as they wore fleece-lined jackets. And since today promised to be one of the last dry days before the cold slop of winter finally made its appearance, Winter had agreed to ride out with Rogers this afternoon.

However, after having to put up with both Loki and the visiting Thor sniping at each other all morning, he was in no mood to see Stark motioning him to come in when the elevator doors opened on the wrong damn floor.

While admittedly helpful at times, Jarvis was a pain in the god-damned ass some days.

“Stark, is there a good reason why, instead of taking me to the garage to meet Rogers, the elevator brought me up here?”

“Yeah. Yeah, there is.” Stark had taken several steps toward his bar before he realized that Winter wasn’t following him. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come on,” After a modified eye roll and an imperative jerk of his head for Winter to follow, Stark again headed towards his shrine to cut glass and expensive liquor. Waving Winter towards a stool he settled behind the bar, setting out two glasses and a bottle, then pushing one away as Winter shook his head.  

Stark’s liquor was admittedly the best, but the taste of straight scotch was not something Winter was fond of. Besides, he was picky who he drank with.  

“Nice work on the Arctic ice-pack problem. Oh, and stabilizing the Mendenhall Glacier, I hear his nibs promised to go up there and give it another blast from his Igloo Cooler of Ancient Ice Cubes come spring.”

_Nice work on almost freezing our ass off._

Not to mention other body parts.

_Those too._

If Winter, and he supposed Old Bucky, never had to spend another moment in a place where the temperature dropped below sixty degrees they would both be ecstatic. Which apparently was not in their immediate future, since Loki was due to take the Ice Cube of Power to some dump called Yotum-home  and spend a week there doing fixes to their planet, so they could start prepping for, ‘The Grand Battle’.

_With Thor._

Well yes. And didn’t that make it better. Antarctic temperatures and worse, a bickering sibling was guaranteed to make Loki’s mood worse than turning blue did. Which was a real accomplishment, because the whole blue thing was a twenty-three on a one to ten scale of crankiness. Thank you Odin Allfucker.

_If Loki had a list, Thor would be at least a fifteen._

At the very least. Hell, he hits **my** top forty. And I’ve barely spoken to the guy.

If there was one thing Winter was thankful for, it was the fact that he’d never had to put up with siblings.

_We had **sisters**!_

No, **you** had sisters.   

Not minding in the least Old Bucky’s grumbling retreat, Winter upped the power of the glare he was aiming at Stark. Just in case it had slipped, while he was talking to Stevie’s annoying Bucky.  

“Anyhow, congrats on making it back with none of your bits frozen off.”

Since that had almost happened, Winter was now the proud owner of a heat shield rune tattoo.

Stark waved his glass in Winter’s direction. “Getting to the point--”

Which would for Stark, be a goddamn miracle.

“--I understand why you missed darts night, but not to worry, I kept tabs on the place for you… and biker chick didn’t make it either. At least Steve didn’t see her when he popped in to see if you were back yet.”

Okay, so that was good news meaning Johnnie might be there this week. Not that he was going to thank Stark for the intel or anything. Rather, he needed to hurry him along; he did have other things to do today.

“Stark, what do you want?”

“See, the thing is, I’ve heard about Steve trying to get you to double date with him and his new honey at that swing club he found. Color me amazed that he finally said something to her besides, ‘Yes, thanks. I’ll have the special.’ And that got me to thinking about your little bar babe.” Stark took a sip of his drink, set it down before him, then capped the bottle before tucking it under the bar. “And it has occurred to me that while unlike Steve’s really swell doll, I have chatted with yours several times, yet don’t know anything about her. Outside of a name which is obviously false, and the fact that Steve is trying to invite the both of you to come dancing with him and his ‘best gal’.”

Winter considered his exit strategies.

_Short of busting down the fire door, and heading down the stairs, you aren’t going to get to the garage until the asshole is done yakking at you._

True. And while he could easily, and with no qualms whatsoever, tear out the steel-reinforced door or the wall beside it which would be easier, he’d then be looking at ninety floors worth of stairs. Because, while he was almost certain that Jarvis wouldn’t shoot him with any of the ceiling guns, he was equally certain the meddlesome AI would lock down any elevator he approached. Even without Stark telling him to do it.  

Resigned, he sat down, dragging his hands across the bar, before folding them serenely in front of him.

“You just had to do that didn’t you?”

And, oops -- accidently gouging it’s finely polished surface with his metal hand.

Keeping his self-satisfied smile to himself, he said, “Look, Stark, I never agreed to ask her out, that was all Rogers’ idea. As for Johnnie, she doesn’t like to tell strange people who she is. And frankly, you’re about as strange as they come, so I’m not surprised she wouldn’t tell you anything.”

“Yeah, yeah. Funny. But see, I don’t like to be around people when I don’t know who they are. So you bet your ass, I checked out everyone who works at your favorite dive bar, and that includes all the losers that drink there. And, guess who I couldn't find anything out on? Your girl Johnnie Walker.”

“So?”

Stark shot him an exasperated scowl.

“So? Look Shaggy, if I can’t find out who a person is, it’s an odds-on bet that there’s something shady about them. What was even stranger was how unconcerned your boy Lokes was when I mentioned it to him.”

Possibly, at some point in time, Stark was going to say something that interested him. Hopefully before his very limited amount of patience with the man ran out.

“Anyhow… I believe I have mentioned I am a genius, yes.”

“Only every other time you open your yap, so yes Stark, you _have_ mentioned it.”

“Cute.”

“I am. At least when I’m not being ruggedly handsome, according to what I’ve overheard at the spa.”

“Listen Wolfie, why don’t you try to use that head of yours for something that doesn’t just involve growing hair.”

Winter couldn’t help but preen a little. In a manly kind of way, of course. “My incredibly glossy hair. Again, according to overheard conversations.”

Stark huffed irritably, “You’re a jerk, you know that, right? Look, I appreciate you telling Steve that he could let me scan and examine his space moped. So I’m trying to thank you here, and I’d appreciate it, if you would stop making me regret it. ‘Kay?”

_He’s fun to wind up, isn’t he?_

He is. I can sometimes see why the boss likes hanging with him.

_Still, we might want to see what has him so worked up? You can always piss him off later._

Which was very true. Since Stark seemed to be waiting for an indication that it was okay to continue, Winter gave him a ‘And? You have a point?’ look from under slightly raised brows.    

“Not that you are making it easy,” Stark grumbled before waving an exasperated hand, as if to indicate that airing all of his grievances would be a rabbit hole the engineer didn’t have time to go down right now. “Anyhow, your boss is possibly the most possessive, jealous bastard, I’ve ever met, and yes, this is my professional opinion. Yet he isn’t jealous about this strange chick being around you? Or that she has no traceable history, and could be working for one of your many enemies? Or, hell, one of his? This makes no sense.”

While he didn’t allow it to show in his expression, privately, Winter had to admit that Squatty McBrainBox might have a point. Not that he would ever acknowledge that, because, not only did he know it, but so did the asshole in front of him. That being why he was the recipient of one of  Stark’s smugger smirks.

“Yeah. Amazing what happens when you use your grey matter for something besides fluffing out your skull isn’t it.” Stark clapped his hands together. “Now, moving on, since your mystery bar babe is so good with pointy things--”

Various nagging memories rooting around Winter’s subconscious began looking for a baseball bat.

“--and since she vaguely resembles someone we both know--”

He’d thought it odd that even from the beginning Johnnie had felt strangely comfortable to be around.

“--kes, who strangely doesn’t care that she has no discernable identity, and the last time I called him your boyfriend, you didn’t correct me like you normally do.”

Big oops there.

“I thought you might have a passing interest in my suspicions. So, I had a couple of little chats with Thor.”

Those had to have been fun. Getting usable information off Thor was like trying to chew taffy without gluing your teeth together. Winter knows, he’s tried several times. Both the information, and the taffy thing. Lewis sadistically keeps a bowl of it on her desk.

“Anyhow, as you know, illusions are kind of Loki’s thing. So if they see him as a one-eyed asshole, no one bats an eye. But, the thing about illusions, at least according to Thor, is that if you touch them, they disappear. So I started wondering, how that would work, because king or not, at some point in time someone would have to have bumped into ol’ LokiOdin, or touched him while handing him something. Fraught with disaster? Hell, yeah.” Stark did one of those ‘hey pay attention’ hand movements of his. Then when he was sure he had Winter’s undivided attention, continued with: “But, funny thing? Sweet Cheeks isn’t only super-skilled at illusions, he’s also  a shapeshifter. Were you aware of that?”

Strangely enough, Winter wasn’t. Or rather he’d not appreciated that there was a difference between the two.

“And when he becomes Asgardian, human, avian,” Stark’s eyes twinkled, and his mouth twisted up into a curly little smile-smirk, that promised future trouble, “or say equus, he really does become them, no trick, no bending light or whatever the hell he claims his illusions are. A bird that flies, a fish that swims, or a mare that has… adventurous adventures, if you know what I mean.”

And no, he didn’t. He wasn’t aware that Loki’s illusions couldn’t be touched. Hell, he’d accidentally brushed against LokiOdin several times, taking documents off him, or handing him reports and such. So, if Thor was right, something that, according to Loki was a rare occasion, then Winter hadn’t understood that illusions were so easily dispelled. Frowning slightly, he noted that Stark was watching him closely.

“You know, you look like you might not be totally up to speed with what I am trying to lay down here. I’m gonna have Jarvis send you a copy of the Poetic Edda, with the relevant passages marked.”

While Stark enjoyed being a wiseguy, or his version of it at any rate, Winter often wished the guy would just quit. He wasn’t as tenth as clever as he thought he was. Being a genius or rich did not automatically make you a comedian. No matter what a smart shit oppressor of the ruling class might believe.   

“Look, I’m telling you, you really want to brush up on your Norse myths. Trust me, you’ll be thanking me. And, since times have changed, and it appears that you’re the sugar baby of someone who doesn’t follow the laws of biology any more than they follow the laws of physics--”

It was hard to hold a glare when you were as confused as fuck. Winter managed of course, because he was a highly trained agent. After all, if you could glare menacingly at someone who’d just shot you in the gut, confusion was no excuse not to maintain standards. Still, there were often times when Winter or Old Bucky were confounded by the crap that flowed out of Starks mouth. Although granted, one of them could usually get the gist of it without a thirty minute session on google.

_But not this time._

True.

“--saying is there might be an out for your old timey Catholic upbringing, and Hydra torture-related issues with intimacy. At least if letting Lewis, and those spa ladies of yours gets handsy extends to other touch related activities.” Stark paused a moment, perhaps to take a breath? And peered at him. “Look, just read the stuff Jarvis sent you, and if you have any questions about anything… well, don’t call me. God wouldn’t that be awkward. I don’t know, talk to Jarvis. Yeah, he’ll hook you up with how we do things these days.”

Stark, apparently done with his confusing little appreciation pep talk, made as if to pat Winter’s shoulder, thought better of it and pulled his hand back. Since more intel was desperately needed, Winter pulled out his phone, set it on the bar and tuning out Stark, started flicking through the files that Jarvis had sent him.

“And Jarvis? Since I really do appreciate getting scans of those elf bikes, send Wolfenstein here a thank-you basket, full of all the goodies that he might not have already picked up for himself. You know, stuff that a modern, active guy in his situation might need.”

“Very good sir, I shall have it delivered by this evening.”

“Have what delivered?” Steve asked, entering the bar area.

_Stevie!_

Stow it. Stevie can wait five damn minutes; I’m gathering intel right now.

“Jarvis, not that I don’t love seeing Grampa Rogers, but what is he doing here. Specifically in my bar area? And without me knowing he was coming up to my private floor?”

“Oh. Gosh. I’m sorry Tony. Buck-- err, Winter said he was on his way up to my place, and then he didn’t show, So I asked Jarvis if he knew where he was. I wouldn’t have bothered you, but something came up at the last minute, kinda time sensitive, and I really do have to let them know one way or the other if he wouldn’t mind visiting some at-risk teens while we’re out and about today.”

Stark scoffed, “And do what? Give them tips on how he seamlessly braids a garrote into his self-declared glossy hair? Or more general stuff, like the fastest way to illegally enter and exit a country so you don’t miss your facial appointment? Admittedly valuable life skills, but not ones that high school kids, who aren’t on the cosmetology fast track, should be learning.” He paused a moment. “Of course, if they are New York at-risk teens taking cosmetology, they may already know this shit and just want him for an advanced class on how to find time to moisturize while being hunted by multiple government agencies.”

Rogers rolled his eyes in such an overdone way, that even though Winter didn’t look up from his screen, he could practically hear it.

_The punk can be quite sassy. I can’t tell you how many times it got --_

Thinking here. Do you mind? He asked his inner pest testily.

One one hand, if Stark was right, and Loki was actually Johnnie, why? If Loki had been trying to see if Winter was susceptible to a honey trap, he’d done a piss poor job of it. ‘Johnnie’, didn’t really show up that often. And when she did, she often didn’t do anything to try to attract him As for spying on him, there were lots easier ways to go about it, and none of them involved form- fitting dresses with really flouncy skirts.

A sudden thought caused him to clench his phone so tightly the metal case creaked in protest. Unless, he just like wearing dresses? Which, okay, was not Winter’s cup of tea, but…as a doll he did have the legs for it. Really nice toned and shapely legs, that pretty much went on for forever, legs that would look really good in a pair of heels. Of course so would Loki’s regular ones. The sudden mental image of Male Loki in one of his slim cut suits wearing heels was so strong that Winter suddenly had a choice between a hard swallow, or embarrassing himself. Because Stark would surely know what he was thinking if he had to suddenly wipe drool from the corners of his lips.  

_Oh my god. Do you mind?!_

No. Oddly enough, no, he really didn’t. And from the surge interest in his private areas, he was pretty sure he could work with this. Most likely because he’d never had a female handler, probably because Hydra, as an organization, was pretty light on females of power in general, and wet-work handlers in particular. Or perhaps just because the ladies in his life were constantly touching him, and he was getting used to it. He had recently noticed that he didn’t freeze up anymore when Darcy or the ladies at the spa hugged him, tugged at him, adjusted his collar or… gave him one of those bone melting massages. So a shapeshifting Loki was something he was definitely interested in learning about.

“Actually, I’d mentioned I just got a new bike, and they’d like us to visit a group of, well they called them motor-heads. Apparently, a local charity hires them to fix cars and bikes that are donated so they can be given to people who need transportation for work. So, um, Winter, you okay with visiting the kids?”

_Steve is talking to you._

Okay, so Thor did fuss at Loki about him turning into a snake when they were kids and stabbing him. And what was with this Norse stuff? A fish, a bird, a milkmaid… a horse?! Real shapeshifting and not an illusion?

“You can’t seriously be asking Winter to take **_his_** bike, which no offense Steve, is a zillion times nicer than yours, somewhere that grubby, juvenile-delinquent school kids can put their greasy paws on it?”

_Look, just nod your head, okay?_

Which Winter did absently as he continued to try and reconcile Stark’s suspicions, with Jarvis’ Norse Saga dump, with…

“Great!”

“Honestly?” Stark said in a disgusted voice. “You’re going to let them paw those bikes?”

“Geeze Tony, it isn’t like they’re going to break them down for parts or anything.”

“They might.”

“No they won’t. Look, I just thought it would be nice for the kids to get a chance to look at them, and maybe ask questions after we give them a demonstration. Who knows? Maybe it will inspire one of them to invent their own version someday.” Suddenly, Steve ducked down a bit, peering at Winter from Tony’s side of the bar. “How about, I go call them and let the kids know we’ll be there?”

Not quite startled, Winter straightened up. Since he was no longer hunched over his phone, he casually covered the screen with his hand. Not that he thought Rogers was a snoop. Stark yeah. Rogers, no.

“Yeah. Sure. That’ll be fine. I, um. I, just need to talk to Stark another moment, then I’ll meet you in…twenty minutes? Down in the garage?”

Rogers gave him a smile so sunny, that Old Bucky practically squealed with joy.

Pushing away from the bar with a, “Great! See you in twenty. Bye Tony! Bye Jarvis!” Rogers almost bounced to the elevator.

Before Stark could start yapping about something stupid, Winter practically pinned him in place with the intensity of his gaze.

“Why?”

"Why, what?”

“Why, tell me this stuff?”

“I told you, to thank you for letting me scan Steve’s bike. Don’t you remember?” Stark gave Winter what he no doubt thought was a cheeky smirk. “You know, cognitive decline isn’t exactly exactly unheard of in a guy your age, you might ju--”

“ **Why, Stark?** ”

He might think he was immune to Winter’s best murder stare, but as much as he tried not to, Stark still recoiled when the stare was joined by a low rolling growl. And then, bracing himself against further backwards movement, pouted like a five-year old.

“Fine, fine. You want to know why? Fine. I’ll tell you.” Stark’s hand made a gesture with his index and pinky fingers, as if he was having trouble deciding if he was going to point, or ward off a hex. “If. If, I am going to have to put up with Merlin spurning my obviously superior attentions, I would rather he hooked up with you, and not the hottie du jour.” Waving away Winter’s raised eyebrow he said, “Yeah. Surprised me too. But you, _you_ at least I get to insult. Mister Magic, threatened **_me_** with dismemberment if I so much as teased the other one.”

Grumpily fishing under the bar, Stark pulled his bottle back out, disgustedly twisted the cap off and poured himself another drink. Sloshing some on the bar in his aggravation.

“Besides, like I said before, you at least could have a lucrative career killing people, who knows what the next one will be? A barista? A flight attendant?”

“A rival captain of industry?” Winter said dryly.

“He definitely wouldn’t let me rag on one of _those_.” Stark groused, before shooting a speculative look towards Winter. “Why doesn’t he care if I mess with you? Hell, he likes you a lot better than he did bartender boy.”

_You really should think about this before you do anything you would regret. Particularly, since I am sure, you’re going to regret this quite a bit._

Ignoring Old Bucky, who was still not, and most likely would never be, a Team Loki fan, Winter picked up his phone, swiping and tapping until his contact list was displayed. Sparing a moment to answer Stark’s question while his call connected.

“Maybe because he knows that if you piss me off enough I’m liable to kill you? And he knows that you know that too?”  He pressed the call symbol, and started to turn away.

Stark huffed out, “Yeah. That’s probably it.”

Loki picked up on the fourth ring. “Winter? You haven’t left for your ride yet?”

“Uh, no. Soon. But listen, Steve wants to know if we want to join him and his girl for dinner and some swing dancing this Friday.”

There was a brief moment of silence on the other end of the phone.

“Captain Rogers, wants us, as in me also, to accompany him and his lady for an evening of dinner and dancing?”

Okay, so the disbelief in Loki’s voice was so evident that even someone as oblivious as Stark would have picked up on it.

“Yes?”

A long suffering sigh drifted out of his phone’s speaker. “My Wolf, I highly doubt that the Captain would willingly spend any more time in my company that he absolutely has to. Therefore, I must ask, exactly _what_ are you _not_ telling me about this invitation?”

The bad thing about working for a Trickster God was their annoying tendency to know when someone was trying to put one over on them. Admittedly, he already planned to toss Stark out of the troika if things got ugly. He could give that a shot, but there really was no time like the present. He looked over his shoulder and grinned at Stark before saying, “Nothing, really.”

“Nothing?”

“No. Steve did invite you, he just doesn’t know that you and Johnnie are the same person.”

_And neither did you until ten damn minutes ago._

True.

There was the tiniest of pauses before Loki said, “Very well then. **_However_** , I get to be the one to break the news to the good Captain, after the dancing I think.

“Sure. Works for me,” Winter said, knowing, but not really caring that Loki would almost certainly dance at least once or twice with Rogers before the big reveal. And when Captain Righteous fussed, which he almost certainly would, Winter could look forward to pointing out that he was the one who invited him… or her. Inner smile growing wider by the second, Winter made a mental note to watch his pronouns so he didn’t give away the joke before the big reveal. Then a thought occurred to him.   

“Um, one thing though? Do you think could you wear the black dress with the really full skirt? It had the red cherries on it?”

Loki’s chuckle was low and filthy sounding. “And the boots and jacket too?”

“Heels and the jacket maybe?” Winter asked, not even trying to keep the hopeful note out of his voice.

“I am certain that would be possible.”

_Oh. My. God. You guys are going to make me sick aren’t you?_

An instant cascade of thoughts drowned out anything else Old Bucky might have been bitching about. A gorgeous guy. Who is also sometime a hot doll? Who already liked him? Who wasn’t the least bit breakable? And who already shares a bed with him? Forget about making him Old Bucky sick, Winter fucking hopes they’ll make the annoying bastard blush like hell, and have to close his eyes and cover his ears on a really regular basis.   

“Winter?” Loki said, recalling his attention before his imagination got too carried away with itself. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen Stark around this morning, would you?”

_Well someone is in trouble._

“Stark? Oh, yeah. He’s right here, standing over by his bar; do you need to talk to him?”

“No. Not really. It’s not that important. Just let him know there is a logistical problem with that material he wanted to order from Álfheim, the cost to get it here in his time frame has quadrupled, but I am fairly sure if we wait a few months it will be available at a more reasonable price.”

An outraged huff behind him, let Winter know that Jarvis, with his incredibly sensitive microphones, was giving Stark a running summary of their conversation. Loki continued.

“And if you would be so kind, please let Stark know that if he continues to insert himself in matters that are not his concern, material surcharges will be the **_least_** of his difficulties.”

**OoooO**

There is a game they play occasionally, one of control.

With knives, naturally.

On the surface, it might seem that Loki would have an automatic advantage, what with him being a lot older and a mage to boot. However, every waking day that Winter hadn’t spent iced for the past seventy years had been an unrelenting exercise in control. So control wise, they are well matched. Loki of course still has the edge when it comes to technique, but Winter learns fast, and his talent for tactical improvisation is enough to impress even a shape shifting goddess.

As the meditation timer begins to chime at the five-minute mark, Loki broke off kissing him, removed her oil slicked hand, and sat back with a Cheshire like smile to admire her handiwork. Winter, eyes uncrossing struggled a moment to sit up, then gasped, “Holy fuck doll,” even as his left hand groped for one of the knives on the nightstand.  

Taking one last breath, Winter flipped the knife into position, tossing it at the target on the far wall just as the final chime sounded.

Bullseye.

Of course.

Slapping the timer reset, Winter turned to the dark-haired beauty now smirking up at him from the tangled sheets, rolled over on top of her, and lost no time in starting his five-minute session of concentration and control destruction.

With Loki so hating to lose, Winter more than occasionally threw the game. But since tonight’s prize was getting to choose an outfit that the other had to wear in public, that was not going to happen. And if Loki thought that ‘accidently’ switching to his male form again was going to put Winter off his game, he was dead wrong. In fact, Winter was almost counting on him trying it. He’d come up with a few tricks that if male Loki showed up were almost guaranteed to make him lose in record time.   

And it did. Just as he'd thought, an almost losing Loki had decided to pull out her male form. Didn't work this time. The wrist-twisty move, while draped over Loki’s back, and growling into the god’s ear, every filthy compliment he could think of worked like a charm.  

For the record? Loki looked hotter than hell in a slightly too small white t-shirt, skin tight black jeans, and a pair of biker boots.

So good, that Winter couldn’t have kept the smug smile off his face if someone had held a gun to his head. Not even whispers of promised retribution could keep his smile from growing wider as the evening progressed.

OoooO 

Payback, as they say, is a bitch.

“Oh my fucking ** _god!_** ”

“Yes?”

“Bastard! Don’t you yes, me. You quit being Steve right now!”

The oddly curly, trickster smile that he knew so well, didn’t look the least bit sexy on Steve’s face. Heart pounding half out of his chest from shock, Winter tried to ignore Old Bucky raining down condemnation on his head for hooking up with a insane fucking space alien in the first place. Considering what he’d been doing when he felt the muscle structure change beneath his hands, Winter thought his upset perfectly justified when his hot, dark, sexy, lean boyfriend turned into the muscle bound leader of the Avengers.

“Loki…”

“Oh, very well.” There was a faint shimmer and Steve’s blond hair did indeed darken as Stark’s form solidified.

**_Arrghhh!_ **

_Worse!”_

And while the smirk was not so out of place on _that_ face, Winter felt totally justified in stabbing the asshole god he shared a bed. Old Bucky, already mad, became livid, when the idiot beneath him began howling with laughter. The sound of which, caused the still hyperventilating Winter to seriously consider stabbing him again.

_Hell yes! Do it again! But, this time don’t be so damn polite about it!_

Fighting the urge to inflict more than a minor flesh wound, Winter decided that Loki turning into Rogers, or worse Stark during sex was definitely going to bump something off his top twenty list.

~fini~

 

Johnnie/Loki's dress for those interested - [https://www.collectif.co.uk/clothes-c1/flared-dresses-c3/dolores-doll-50s-cherry-print-dress-p38](https://www.collectif.co.uk/clothes-c1/flared-dresses-c3/dolores-doll-50s-cherry-print-dress-p3883)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments are greatly appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> *Бешеный Бездомная Кот - CRAZY STRAY CAT  
> **Влажный Кот - Wet Cat  
> Eshkin Cat is an expression of exasperation, kinda like our Geez Louise  
> .  
> Avengers, Iron Man, and Thor, are the property of Marvel and Disney, not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. For entertainment purposes only.  
> .  
>  **[The Trouble with Tricksters](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5143163/chapters/11837846)** COMPLETE w sequel **[The Trouble with Tricksters Two](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8856499)** \- Loki is kept in Stark Tower, but he is a NOT silent, dignified, lone figure, mostly avoiding the Avengers he is forced to share living quarters with. Instead he is an in your face brat. Who walks a fine line between annoying the shit out of all of them but doing it in a way that isn’t blatant enough for anyone to stomp on him without an avenging Thor coming after them.  
> .  
>  **[Palaces of Sand and Gold](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2398826/chapters/5303108)** COMPLETE If Tony and Loki ever broke up, Tony and the SI lawyers wouldn't stand a chance against Odin and his Logmars in a custody struggle. Fortunately it hasn’t come to that, but it is a struggle dealing with overzealous grandparents? Domestic One Shots in the Queens Grace Verse that can be read alone.  
> .  
>  **[The Littlest Trickster](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5056117/chapters/11627242) ** COMPLETE - Tony Stark finds out that neither he nor Loki are any match for a child determined to return to Earth. A series of One Shots as the newest heir of Asgard experiences Life on Midgard. Queens Grace Verse AU, Comes after Palaces of Sand and Gold, but can be read alone. Co-written with Ykmust.  
> .  
>  **[Queens Grace](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1038355/chapters/2071435)** COMPLETE WITH SEQUEL - After the New York attack, Odin has taken Loki’s magic, made him mortal and imprisoned him. But Asgard is not a safe place for the Trickster under these conditions. Recent events make Odin decide to take away one more thing from his second son, his memory going back for the last four years, making Asgard unsafe for Loki’s reduced station. From stories Thor had told, Frigga decides that Tony Stark’s tower would make an excellent secure location for amnesiac Loki to be under house arrest.  
> .  
>  **[Anthony of Asgard](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2193336/chapters/4803567) ** \- COMPLETE - After several years of being housed in Stark Tower as a state prisoner of Asgard, Loki is recalled to Realm Eternal. Devastated Tony is now minus a lab partner, wingman and a snark buddy for movie night. Pepper has moved to the west coast and married, SHIELD is doing some crazy shit and with the exception of occasionally seeing Bruce, Tony doesn’t have much interaction with his former team mates. He wonders how it is possible to feel so lonely in a city so full of people. However he's and engineer and a genius... he can fix this. All he has to do is convince Queen Frigga and Odin All Father to go along with his plan.  
> .  
>  **[How Desperate Are You?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/778956/chapters/1466437)** COMPLETE WITH SEQUEL – Loki has had a bad year and after leaving Midgard with Thor and challenging Odin isn’t making it any better, but no matter how smart you are… Sometimes stubborn happens. It may not seem to be in your best interest, but how desperate are you for a resolution? Any resolution. Loki is returned to Asgard and nothing good happens, but Loki isn’t the only one with issues, Odin has plenty of his own, especially in the realm of A+ Parenting. Loki is desperate to escape from Asgard, Odin and his past.  
> .  
>  **[Desperate for Change](http://archiveofourown.org/works/943697/chapters/1841248)** COMPLETE - Returning to Midgard after an absence of almost two years, Loki finds that as desperate for change as he has been, some changes will take time to get used to, especially when they concern his relationship with Tony and Pepper.  
> .  
>  **[Earth is good thanks, can I talk to Loki](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10873608)** COMPLETE - Steve Rogers did not spend seventy years in ice for stuff like this to be happening. And since desperate times call for desperate measures... He calls upon the one person he can think of who will help him. It's risky, but Steve is determined.  
> .  
> 


End file.
